Bittersweet
by Najio
Summary: Coil takes a less-than-friendly interest in the city's newest Tinker.
1. The Snake on His Costume

At first, I had tried to stay calm. Now, I was just trying not to scream. In the oppressive darkness, curled in on myself with no room to move, I focused on my breathing. Air moved in and out, through my mouth, since my nose was all stuffed up from crying. I tried not to, but the tears wouldn't stop. Each one filled my eyes, beaded, and ran down my cheek. The blindfold lapped them up, the bottom edge of it now damp and clinging to my face. My hands were bound in front of me with plastic cuffs, resting in my lap as I clenched and unclenched them.

Two people, probably men by their sheer size, sat on either side of me, and neither had spoken a word. They were bulky, but the kind of bulky that came from muscle, and they were almost crushing me between them. I felt fragile, like a glass jar in a vice. Both of them had guns, that I was sure of. I could feel something small and hard in the man on the left's vest, where it pressed against my shoulder, and I could see the gleam of metal at the other's hip. Three days ago, I had been startled by how much a single gun had scared me, when Lung had been less than ten feet away. Now I was learning that guns are just scarier, without any real reason backing up my primal fear.

Primal fear. That came close to describing the way I was feeling, though it was missing something. I wasn't as scared as I should be. Not that I was the picture of calm, it was more that I felt removed from it. My body was crying and fidgeting and hyperventilating, and I myself was just watching. Disbelief, maybe, or just shock. It didn't feel real, that I'd be grabbed off the street and blindfolded on my way to school. I wasn't in costume, I wasn't tinkering. No, I was just walking, minding my own business, wishing I didn't have to put up with Emma and her friends again.

Wish granted. I'd never thought I would find myself wishing I was back in the locker, but at least then I knew what I was dealing with. Now, I was caught between my own fear and how surreal this all was, like I'd walked into an action movie. The disconnect worried me, but in a far-off way. Like it was happening to someone else, and I was just an passenger in my own body.

Dad, I thought, noticing but not really feeling my heart sink at the thought. He would be worried for me, and now that someone apparently knew my identity, he might be a target. Whoever was behind this, they obviously knew I was a cape. I couldn't think of any other reason someone would kidnap me.

Shit. I had been kidnapped. By actual minions with guns. In an honest to god black van. Just like that, it all came crashing in on me. My breathing sped up even more as my mind went into overdrive. I looked around, searching for a way out, or something I could use to escape. There was nothing I could reach, and it would take me at least a couple of hours to build anything useful. That was the problem with a tinker power, I supposed. Without my gear I was just a baseline human, and there was nothing I could do to stop this.

I started shaking, my own helplessness drawing me back to reality. There was no way out, and I was trapped and headed somewhere, but I couldn't see to figure our where I was. Some part of me was still hoping the heroes might show up, but how would they know who I was, let alone where I'd been taken. Would anyone even notice I was gone?

There was no way for me to tell how much time passed in that car, my thoughts going in panicked circles, but it felt like hours. Then, I felt myself tip forward as the vehicle slowed down. I heard a door opening, the one on my left, and I was guided out of the van and down a staircase. Sixty-two steps. Alarmed at how deep below ground I must be, I suppose I tensed. The man on the right shoved me, and for a moment it was all I could do to stay upright. Right, no running off.

Left turn, straight, slight downward ramp, right turn, right turn, left turn. I started getting dizzy trying to map the place, wondered how big it must be. From the echoing clang that met each footstep, I guessed maybe there were metal grates in the floor, or a catwalk. A door opened, and the man on the right gave me another rough shove. I collapsed, found myself in a sitting position.

Nothing else happened, for what felt like a long time. I tried to think about something else, anything else, but failed. My dad. Whoever was in charge of those men knew who I was, and by extension, they knew about my dad. My stomach clenched, as I realized that they could, theoretically, have grabbed me while I was in costume. Was this a deliberate threat? If they told me to do something illegal, something really, really wrong... could I refuse, knowing they could hurt him?

Again, I heard a door opening. It didn't creak, but I could hear a rush of displaced air and soft footsteps on the metal. Quiet tapping, and a voice. A cool, collected voice.

"Hello, Taylor." I tensed. The muted footfalls approached, and I felt a hand on the back of my head as he removed the blindfold.

Skeletal. That was the first word that jumped to mind, as I stared at my captor. I imagined I could almost see his ribs, even through his black bodysuit. A white snake stood out from his chest, its tail reaching down to his hips. It was the only feature on the otherwise blank costume, drawing my eye to it almost instantly. I recoiled as I looked into his face and saw only a smooth, flat plain of cloth.

He seated himself in a chair opposite mine, his elbows on his knees, leaning down to talk to me. I noticed my own seat was an inch or two lower than his, forcing me to look up at him.

"What..." I couldn't decide what to ask, so I went with something general. "What the fuck?!" He ignored my outburst.

"I have a favor to ask," he said, without a hint of humor in his voice. Not knowing how to respond to that, I decided to keep silent. I was painfully aware of the fact that he could see my face, as my mask and armor were currently hidden in the basement.

"Unfortunately, while it isn't illegal in and of itself, it is connected to rather a lot of things I would prefer stayed secret."

"What?" I asked again, nonplussed. "Do you want me to sign an NDA or something? Why the hell did you kidnap me?"

"No, I don't need an NDA," he replied, slowly, patronizing. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave until that task is completed." Fuck.

"And if I say no?" I tried, hoping desperately that-

"I must insist." My blood went cold. This wasn't an offer, or a job, it was blackmail. A lot of blackmail. My identity, my dad, hell, the chance to get out of here. All of it hinged on doing... whatever it was he wanted. I really, really hoped he wanted some armor. It was all I'd made so far, all I'd shown myself to be capable of, but...

'Hey, you're a new face. Wow, I think I might know your specialty. Now, I don't want to jump the gun or anything, but if you ever need a... certain type of customer, let me know!' People always said tinkers were bullshit, but I had quickly realized that thinkers were much worse. I wasn't sure what my specialty was. I get into one fight, accidentally save one villain team, and suddenly someone else wants to preorder? Tattletale had seemed more than intrigued too. She tried to hide it, but I could tell she really wanted to be on my good side. Several thousand dollars seemed like a lot of money for accidentally helping out, if my being Lung's plaything could be called helping.

This man, whoever he was, was interested in me, for whatever reason. The obvious conclusion was that Tattletale had let something slip, or just flat-out told him. He'd decided to be much more forward in obtaining... whatever she thought I could make.

"After," I said finally, trying not to let my voice shake, "I go home?"

"Of course," he replied, voice gentle. I couldn't help but look at the snake on his costume.


	2. Buy Some Tylenol

Fingers glided along my scalp, deftly separating out another lock of hair. I could hear a quiet rustling as they slithered past my ears. Middle and forefingers pinched each bundle of strands delicately, measuring them and holding them in place. There was a metallic _snip_ as a pair of silver scissors snapped shut, and another long brown curl drifted to the floor. The man behind me stayed silent, occasionally repositioning my head when I tilted it too far away from him, fading into the background until he was only a pair of hands.

I forced myself to hold still, suppressing a shudder. No matter how uncomfortably familiar each gesture was, there wasn't any point trying to move. The first time, he'd just grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me back into place, without saying a word. The second time, he'd told me that if I didn't keep still he might cut me by accident - and the way he'd emphasized accident had been more than enough reason to stop fidgeting.

Coil, I assumed, was the cape with the black bodysuit that had 'offered' me a job yesterday. I was still waiting for him to tell me what he actually wanted.

For the moment, I was being held in a small but not uncomfortable room. Having to ring a buzzer and be escorted by a mercenary every time I needed to use the bathroom was embarrassing, but I'd dealt with petty power plays like that for years at school. Food was a bigger problem, in that I hadn't been given all that much. Three meals, sure, but it was fairly tasteless, and the portions had been small. I could manage, but it was still hard to adjust.

The only thing that really grated on me was how little sleep I'd had. There was no clock in the room, but a loud, shrill beeping noise had woken me up maybe half an hour ago, and I was exhausted. I'd felt like this once before, when I'd stayed awake until three in the morning trying to finish a history project Sophia had stolen. After a moment, when no one had entered the room, I'd tried to get back to sleep, but the buzzer had gone off again.

If the idea of some hapless soldier sitting in front of a camera and waiting for me to doze off so he could sound the alarm amused me at first, it was less funny when I realized that there had to be a camera pointed at the bed.

Again, I heard the dry _zip_ of the scissors, and wondered which part of Coil's plans involved giving me a haircut. It was... unsettling, maybe. I felt more upset than I probably should about how short he was making it, considering my circumstances. I guessed it was because for a long time, my hair had been one of the few things I liked about my appearance, and now the way it looked was being taken out of my control. Still, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't think of a single reason why a supervillain would care about my appearance, or why the hell one of his mercenaries knew how to cut hair like a barber.

The man left as soon as he was finished sweeping up the hair on the floor, relocking the door from the outside. It was a formality, really. There was no way I could sneak out, not with the entire place crawling with soldiers. I could always hear them, heavy boots banging on the ground - metal catwalks, by the sound of them. They made it hard to sleep, and not just because of the noise.

Once I was alone again, I looked around for something to do, and wasn't surprised to find that the room was still as barren as before. Four plain, off-white walls, one small but serviceable bed, a wooden desk and chair. I remembered my own room, how it was cluttered with half-read books, cold in winter and too hot during the summer, and suddenly felt my vision blurring behind my glasses. Furious with myself, I wiped at my eyes and forced myself to concentrate on the _now._ Contemplating possible futures didn't help me much, and thinking about the past was even worse. Home felt very far away, and it seemed impossible that I'd woken up there yesterday.

I thought about my dad, how he was probably wondering where I was. There was no way of telling time, down here in this windowless cell, but I was fairly sure it was past when I usually woke up. What would he be thinking? He knew I was being bullied, maybe he would call the police? It was probably too early to report me missing, but once he did... the Protectorate wouldn't be involved. I was just a normal girl after all, as far as they knew. Would the police figure out that I had powers? I had a journal in my room somewhere, written in a cipher from left to right, and they had thinkers to translate it. Assuming they bothered, of course. Or if they found my tinkering notes, stashed in the basement, it would be a matter of time before...

No. I couldn't let myself start hoping like that. If I was wrong... I couldn't take that, waiting every day for rescue as the chances got smaller and smaller. The only thing I could be sure of was that I was somewhere underground, in a supervillain's base. If I wanted out, I'd have to count on doing it on my own.

In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but remember that Coil knew my identity, and where to find my dad. Escape wouldn't help, not really.

I pushed it away, and focused as hard as I could on the blank wall ahead of me. My eyes burned with tiredness and unshed tears, as I huddled at the edge of the bed. I had to believe it would come out alright, somehow, that in a few days or weeks a golden opportunity would just drop into my lap. Otherwise... I didn't want to think about the future I might have here.

After several minutes of staring into space, thoughts bouncing between forbidden topics like a pinball, dread growing with every suppressed thought, I heard footsteps outside. There were always footsteps outside, mercenaries banging around on their various duties, but these were different. They were soft, sounding almost like bells as they eased their way towards my door.

It opened easily, with barely a whisper, and Coil padded across the room and stood above me. "Hello, sweet," he said, in silky tones that made me inch away, almost without meaning to.

"I have a name," I muttered, not meeting the blank stare of his eyeless costume. He pulled the small wooden chair toward him and sat down across from me.

"Would you mind doing me a favor?" he asked, ignoring my comment. He was hunched over in his seat, propping himself up with his forearms on his knees, folding his hands together. The picture of an adult, explaining an inarguable truth to a small and stubborn child.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked, knowing the answer but feeling like it was important to say the words out loud. If he was going to keep me here against my will, he was at least going to acknowledge it.

"I must insist," he replied, not hiding the condescension in his tone. Like a doting father trying to put his foot down without actually saying no.

"Fine. What do you want?" Maybe I was being rude and abrasive, but it helped to have an outlet for my frustration. This was an order, not a conversation, and I wished he'd just talk plainly instead of pretending to ask politely.

"I have a... _friend,"_ he explained, "They've been having some trouble with headaches."

"Buy some Tylenol."

"These headaches come up whenever they use their powers," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "Someone told me you might be able to help."

I knew exactly who he was talking about, now. The villain I'd accidentally saved from Lung, who had known my specialty before I'd opened my mouth. She must have told Coil, but was this for her or just something he'd done on his own? I didn't know what his power was, or hers for that matter, but it could easily have come with headaches.

More importantly, making tinker painkillers was far from the worst thing he could've wanted from me. There weren't many ways I could think of using them for anything morally questionable, especially if I took precautions to make them non-addictive. I had no idea how I'd pull it off, but ideas were already trickling in. They were disjointed, flashes of ways to do _this_ to connect it to the spine... implant _that_ in the frontal lobe-

I shivered. No, he probably _wouldn't_ want me performing brain surgery. Almost reluctantly, plans came to mind of how to relieve pressure in the blood vessels that registered his headaches, and soon I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of material I'd need. Still nothing on making a normal painkiller, but it was close enough. Well, it _would_ involve plugging a machine into his spine, but if Coil had a problem with that he'd have to get his black market medication somewhere else.

"I... I'd have to look. An x-ray, maybe," I said, trying to focus on Coil instead of the rush of information. "Before, during and after a migraine."

"Not of me, I'm afraid," he replied smoothly, "but I know a few people that would be more than willing to participate, in exchange for a bit of the final product." Probably Tattletale again. I wondered idly whether she might be the one at the top of all this, but dismissed it. Coil didn't seem like the type who would consent to being a figurehead. Still, I was almost certain now that she'd told him my specialty. Personally, I wouldn't have guessed that this sort of thing fell under "improvements" on the human body, but I _could_ reduce the amount of pain I felt during a fight. In fact, without it I might not have been able to stay conscious throughout the fight with Lung. There were several nasty burns on my back, just below my left shoulder, and I'd landed badly on the asphalt a few times. I had told dad that I'd tripped and fallen down a hill, and while I didn't think he believed me, he'd let it lie. Luckily, or so I'd thought then, I'd managed to hide all but a bruised arm and skinned knee, or he would've gone to the police.

"Can you get materials? Expensive equipment, chemicals, someone to test it on..." I trailed off, hoping to see him squirm a little, but I might as well have been talking to a mannequin. His posture was just as relaxed as it had always been.

"Very well. I hope you'll be comfortable here, while arrangements are made. You should be fully equipped within a week or so."

"That fast?" I asked doubtfully, and thought I caught a hint of a smirk behind the cloth of his mask.

"Yes, I always make sure to keep my tinkers well supplied." Something about the way he phrased his assurance made me feel... uncomfortable.

"I'm not _your_ tinker," I snapped, unwilling to let it lie. He ignored me completely.

"If that is all..." he trailed off, waited for a response. I fumed, muttered a curse under my breath. Coil left without another word, or any reaction at all, his too-quiet footsteps tapping out a slow and steady beat as the door swung shut.

I collapsed into bed, and closed my eyes, exhausted from the stress of my captivity and from lack of sleep. This time, Coil let me drift off, still wearing the same clothes I'd arrived in. All through the night I slept peacefully, too tired to dream.


	3. Too Much Tinkering

I'd always hated sitting through school, when I could've been tinkering. Endless hours staring into space, trying not to sketch out any diagrams, waiting for the final bell to ring so I could just get out of there. All day, I had waited for the opportunity to sit down and _work._ Staying awake until three in the morning had become habit, and I'd just sleep through class. Tiredness made me numb, able to withstand Emma's insults, Sophia's shoves and Madison's stupid pranks. I was also failing every class, including Mrs. Knott's, but it was well worth it to be able to snatch another hour or two to spend laboring over my machines.

Never, not once since I'd gotten my powers, had I even considered that there was such a thing as too much tinkering. Eighteen or so hours a day (it was hard to tell without a clock, but it felt like about that much), for three days straight, was _too much tinkering._

Coil wasn't pushing me. In fact, I hadn't seen him since he'd asked me to build his pain-reliever. _I_ was the one pushing, because there was nothing else to do. What I really wanted was a little more sleep, but any attempts at lying down for a nap were always greeted by that same obnoxious buzz. The rest of the room was empty, and staring at the ceiling was infinitely worse than working. So I spent all day plodding along on the device Coil wanted.

I had abandoned the idea of a conventional, chemical pill. I didn't _do_ chemistry, it just wasn't a part of my power. Medicine didn't improve a human body permanently, you had to keep on dosing. So, instead, I'd gone for an oval-shaped device about the size of an apricot that could plug directly into the back of the head, where it would be hidden under long enough hair, or a hood. It would do its best to relieve the pressure in the blood vessels I'd noticed swelling up, in the x-ray Coil had provided. As an added layer of protection, I had it temporarily disable the connection to every nerve attached to them, and I made sure to have it produce a slight tingling feeling. Pain had its uses, and I didn't want anyone ignoring a brain tumor because their head wasn't telling them it was hurting.

Today, I'd finally finished it. The functional parts of it, at least. If Coil wanted a nice pretty case and some LEDs, he'd have to ask someone else. My own 'armor' wasn't even armor- it was a metal skeleton, devoid of any ornament except for the razor sheen of steel.

I had barely even unplugged my soldering iron before I was interrupted. "Hello, sweet," Coil said, entering the room without knocking.

I jumped, twisted around in my chair, and clenched my jaw to keep from yelping in surprise. I had been too focused on my work to notice his signature footsteps on the metal walkways outside. My guess was that he'd seen me start cleaning up through the cameras. He sat on my bed, and I suppressed the absurd urge to tell him off, while I turned the final product of three straight days of tinkering over and over in my palm.

"You took a few liberties." He didn't sound upset, just idly curious. I wondered how he knew I was still building a painkiller, since it really didn't look like one. Since I didn't really think he'd answer me if I asked, I just nodded. Coil seemed to make a habit of knowing things he couldn't, anyway.

"It's finished, I presume?" he half-asked, half-told me, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes." I tossed it at him, with a gentle underhand. It arced straight towards his head, which was mostly accidental. Mostly.

He snatched it out of the air easily, not even acknowledging the fact that I'd meant to hit him. "No traps." It was a statement, not a question. I flushed, absurdly embarrassed. "Good."

"Can I leave now?" I asked, knowing the answer. Part of me wanted him to avoid the question, change the subject so I could go on deluding myself... but I was too sure to take even a little false hope in the idea. Coil wouldn't send me home, not if he could help it at all. This was just a matter of confirming what I already knew.

"Not yet," he replied. "I have to test it first, after that you can go." His smooth voice flowed over the lie like water. "With this, a thinker could use their power indefinitely?"

My heart sank. He wanted _what?_ I was a tinker, not a trump! "No," I corrected him, "It should stop the pain, but it's treating a symptom, not the actual-"

"Sweet," he said, his voice as calm and unruffled as ever. I could feel it though, his cold rage simmering below the surface. It was in his posture, how he sat more stiffly now. "I _do_ need something better, if you're going to go home to your father." The implicit threat being that he knew who and where my dad was. I felt my heart rate speed up as I thought desperately about what to do, what to say.

"I could fix it, if you gave me more-"

"No." There was a chill in that word, that made me flinch away from him. "Never lie to me, sweet. I always know." Fingernails dug into my palm where I'd been clenching my fist, the pain helping center me and let me focus on something other than terror. Coil rose to his feet, towering over me. I wanted to hide, to leave, to just jump into the bay and sink to the bottom where no one could ever find me. "This is... disappointing." Each word felt like a punch to the gut.

He moved toward me, and I flinched back, but he only lay one costumed hand on my head. No matter how badly I wanted to draw away, break contact, I wanted even less for him to be angry again. Maybe it was the contrast with his usual relaxed posture, but I had been more terrified by that restrained tension than if he had shouted himself purple. Something about the way he spoke made it seem like he was fighting the impulse to do something _unhinged._ Or that he _wasn't_ fighting the impulse, that he was deciding right now to throw me in a ditch somewhere, and- I stopped. Forced myself to breathe slowly, steadily.

"I _can't_ do any more," I told him, hoping desperately that he might listen to reason. "There's no point trying, I just don't know how, could I... go home... please?" I hated myself for stumbling over the words, for adding the 'please' without even meaning to, but I was still shaken.

"Soon," he told me, and my heart sank. It really shouldn't have hurt so much, it wasn't really _news,_ I'd been expecting this... but I found myself fighting back tears.

Coil didn't seem to notice my distress. "I must admit," he said, "I was impressed by your early work. The armor would be very helpful, if I could provide some to my friends." I looked down at my bare feet - someone had taken my socks and shoes while I was sleeping, which had made it even harder to relax at night, and _why_ Coil wanted my ratty old sneakers was anyone's guess. The silence grew as I sat, thinking. I didn't want to give him anything dangerous. A painkiller machine was one thing, since it didn't actually improve thinker powers and I didn't think it could ever be used to hurt anyone. My armor? The metal 'muscles' and 'tendons' on my hands could bend steel, and Coil would _know_ if I made his models any weaker, the same way he knew I couldn't fix my failed project.

The idea that someone I'd never met might _kill_ a hero, or even another villain, with _my_ equipment? It was horrifying, made me stutter a bit as I tried desperately to avoid it. "I c-could-" I began, but Coil interrupted me again.

"I would be interested in hearing other ideas, sweet," he said, his tone making it very clear that he didn't think I would come up with anything good enough, "But I would like you to build a set of armor first."

Armor. I wanted to correct him, to tell him that it _wasn't_ armor, it was a metal exoskeleton with some synthetic muscles attached to it, but he had already stood up.

"I trust you not to try anything silly," he told me, and I was startled by how unworried he was. There was no way he _actually_ trusted me like he said, but he was so sure of himself. It made me nervous, and brought back the question of what his powers were, if he even had any.

"One more thing," he added, one hand on the door handle. "I will be very busy for the next few weeks, so you'll be talking to Mr. Harrison instead. Assume anything he says comes from me."

"Who's Mr.-" The door slammed shut behind him.


	4. A Soldier or a Babysitter

_Thud._

I had complained about too much tinkering.

 _Thud._

I had been an _idiot._ Now there was no tinkering at all, or anyone to talk to, or even a book. I would've sold my soul for a supermarket tabloid.

 _Thud._

There was no way to track the time, except how my mood spiraled lower and lower with every waking minute spent lying on the cot and wishing I could go back to fighting Lung.

 _Thud._

So, I had to do something. Anything.

 _Thud._

Coil hadn't deigned to give me any reading material, and all my tinkering equipment had been removed. I'd tried asking them to leave me with a sketchpad, so I could plan my next project, but the mercenaries had completely ignored me.

 _Thud._

Now I was alone in box with no windows, and nothing inside except a desk and a cot. I had kicked the wall in frustration, and hadn't felt like stopping since.

 _Thud._

My toes hurt like hell, and parts of my feet were cramping up from the repetitive strain. If I kept doing it, Coil would _have_ to send someone in.

I started trying to count how many times I'd aimlessly kicked the wall, and lost track somewhere in the thirties. What felt like hours later, I heard footsteps, increasing in volume as they came closer. They made the same echoing clangs as all the other soldiers, ruling out Coil right away.

By the time the door swung inward, I'd stopped abusing my foot and was sitting up on the cot, facing the entrance. A man swept inside, beaming at me with the same false cheer I associated with kindergarten teachers, and the only time I'd ever met my mom's parents. To be fair to them, I'd been around six at the time. I wasn't six now, but that didn't seem to bother the stranger all that much.

"Hello, sweet," he said. Creepy pet names were one thing, but coming from him in that cheerful voice it sounded... just _wrong._ It was like hearing a clown talking very seriously about the economy.

"I'm Mr. Harrison," he explained, "But call me Harry. Coil hired me to look after you."

"He what?" I asked, baffled. Why would he bother? Up until now, it seemed like his regular employees were doing a decent job of bringing food and occasionally escorting me to the bathroom.

"Well, think of me as your pal around here!"

I tried hard not to cringe, but... _god,_ he was way too much like Mr. Gladly, if Gladly were just a little more desperate for people to like him. "Coil kidnapped me," I pointed out. "We're _not_ pals."

"Hmm?" Harrison sounded honestly confused. Had Coil not told him? Wasn't it obvious that I wasn't here of my own free will?

"Coil _kidnapped_ me," I repeated. "You're not my friend, you're my _captor_."

"Nonsense," Harrison replied, blithely ignoring the fact that I was _locked_ in a _cell._ "Coil is your employer."

 _"Bullshit."_

"Sweet, I won't stand for that kind of language here, and there's no need to shout. Someone should be bringing your materials in again shortly, but I don't like it when you act disrespectful. Those toys are a privilege, not a right."

"The hell? Are you a soldier or a baby sitter?!" I snapped.

The smile vanished like a mirage. "I think," he said, slowly and deliberately, "That you are being _very_ disrespectful, young lady. Keep this up and _discipline_ will be in order." I kept my eyes locked on his, unwilling to back down.

"Now, sweet, I think we will get along just fine," he told me, and sat down on the cot.

"My name is Taylor," I insisted. He pretended not to hear, simply leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the wall. We stayed like that a while, me watching him watch the wall, before I cleared my throat.

"Yes?"

"Are you leaving any time soon?" I kept my voice below a shout, but didn't bother hiding my irritation.

"Not for a while, sweet. I can't be sure I can trust you enough to leave you alone right now," Harrison replied, casually crossing his legs and leaning against the wall.

"Bullshit!" I protested again.

His eyes flicked to my bruised toes, then back up at me. "You've hurt yourself," he pointed out mildly. I shouted at him then, telling him to get out, but he didn't react at all. Swearing, I collapsed into my chair.

He smiled the same pitying smile as the teachers did, when they told me I was blowing things out of proportion. _Breathe,_ I thought, but it was useless. The wordless panic kept welling up inside, and all I wanted was to lash out, hit him, _hurt_ him.

I couldn't. Not when I remembered Coil, the tension as he stood there and glared. I tried to imagine what he would do, if I attacked Mr. Harrison, and shuddered. The way he talked, even his posture, they all screamed _danger_ to my most primal instincts. It reminded me of Sophia, in a way. Carefully controlled when he needed to be, but as soon as backs were turned...

All that might not have stopped me. I was angrier than I'd ever been, even more than I had been after the locker, after I'd been _gifted_ with my powers. Every muscle in my body was tense, taught like a bowstring and begging for release.

But Coil had my father. Not here, not near enough for me to protect him, but far off and vulnerable, if some soldier was given the wrong orders. _My fault,_ I thought, _I have to deal with this._

Still, I couldn't hold onto the impassive mask that had kept me sane in school. There was no time to relax, to let my guard down.

 _Oh fuck,_ I thought, trying to keep my breathing slow and steady. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear, just like I'd never let the bullies win. My eyes burned all the same, and I felt a single tear bead and run down my cheek.

The dam was broken. I kept as quiet as I could, hoping to at least be dignified in my breakdown, shaking slightly with repressed sobs. Not that there was much to worry about. For as long as I cried, Mr. Harrison didn't even blink, just stared blankly at the wall with his hands folded across his stomach, completely at ease.


	5. Psychotically Cheerful Minions

"Eat."

My spoon dipped down into the small bowl in front of me, pulled up a tiny glob of oatmeal, and disappeared into my mouth. I put it down on the table and went on staring at nothing.

Mr. Harrison heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You won't get anything else, so you might as well finish the whole thing."

The silence returned.

"Well, you won't be complaining to me that you're hungry, now will you?"

"Nod if you understand me, sweet."

"...Fine. Coil has a job for you."

He shifted his weight, and gave me a sideways glance. "Look at me when I talk to you."

As if in a daze, I moved to face him. "How quickly can you build that armor of yours?" he asked, digging into his own mush.

The blueprint had taken six days, and the rest more than a month. Mostly because it was built out of scrap I could find, or buy with very little money and without raising suspicion. With the resources I'd had working on the painkiller, and doing nothing else... I'd _already_ built it, so it would just be a matter of remembering how to fit it all together.

"No idea. Maybe three or four days? If I had all the right materials."

A shark's smile spread across Harrison's face, a far cry from the eerily congenial one I'd gotten used to. "Could you make two, in five?"

"Why?"

"It seems the ABB are stepping out of line. There's going to be a meeting between the villains, to team up and crush them. Coil wants you and I to be there."

For a long moment, I just _stared._

"What? Why?!"

"Cabin fever seems to be getting to you."

"Bull-"

"Sweet. Coil has made a very generous offer. Don't be rude."

Whatever hopes I might've built up in the past few seconds evaporated immediately. Harrison wasn't very subtle at the best of times, and this hidden message might as well have been written in fire.

 _Behave, or you'll never see daylight again._

I couldn't just refuse. Down in Coil's wannabe Bond lair, I'd completely lost track of the time of day. Hell, I didn't even know what the date was, exactly. The idea of seeing sunlight, or the stars... Talking to people who weren't evil masterminds or psychotically cheerful minions.

The decision wasn't hard. "I'll get it done."

"Good girl. Now, one last thing." Dread settled into my stomach. I remembered the way Emma would pause, just before she brought back to the surface some inner fear I'd shared years ago. She made it last, the time between seeing the smug look on her face and realizing the danger, and when she used the secret.

 _"What."_ I wasn't in the mood for that. Never again.

"Make it look a little nicer. Less frayed wires and steel pipes, more _power armor._ "

I sighed. All in all, a small price to pay. With a nod, I stood up from the table and followed the mercenary outside back to my room.

Already, there were boxes of equipment cluttering the desk and floor. I almost smiled, but there was something vaguely unsettling about how quickly everything was getting done.

With a shrug, I strode over to my desk and began setting up. It was irritating, having to come up with some way to cover the frame I was building and make it look like power armor. Time consuming, of course, and since my power didn't cover that kind of thing it could possibly impede the function of the device.

I let out a long, slow sigh. My breathing settled into the familiar slow rhythm of building, and the world shrank to the table in front of me. Papers always seemed to end up scattered all over the floor, but I could deal with that later. Honestly, a problem to solve on an unlimited budget, plus the opportunity to go out and beat up some of Lung's underlings? This... might pass for a good day.


	6. Interlude: Mr Herbert

It was a quiet afternoon, the kind that made Carl Blunt almost forget he was in a city at all. Out here, in the no-man's-land between the Empire and the ABB, things were much less... well, the word that came to mind was _flammable_. It said a lot about the hot mess that was his home that a missing girl was almost normal, even in one of the more tranquil areas of downtown. With a sigh, he started up the old wooden steps toward a small, ordinary-looking house, noting an odd creak and skipping the first step. Damaging the man's property wouldn't be a great start to his investigation.

The door in front of him opened on the second knock, and he was greeted by a tall, balding man in thick glasses. "Anything?" he asked, without preamble. Surprised, Carl was forced to skip ahead several lines into his prepared opening.

"Not yet. We're trying to look into it, but I'm here to ask you a few questions, to help us out."

"Come in."

Carl was still slightly off-balance from the brusque attitude of... _shit,_ what was his name? Daniel... Herbert? It took him a second to process the invitation and make his way into a messy living room. A few empty bottles of alcohol were strewn about on a small end table by the couch, but not enough to make him worry too much.

"Right," Carl coughed, unsure where to begin. "We have all the basics already, from when you called us." Herbert nodded, moving over to the couch and easing himself down into it. It almost looked like it was eating him. Feeling slightly uncomfortable at being the only one standing, and significantly more uncomfortable with having this conversation, Carl tried his best to swallow his nerves and get it over with. "I have to ask-"

"She didn't run away."

It felt like the conversation had been clotheslined. "Well," he said aloud, "We do need to ask this kind of thing, to be sure." Privately, he was digging up a disturbing number of possibilities. He really wished he didn't have to consider 'joined a group of Nazis' when inquiring about a missing teenager.

"Anything else?"

"Not much. We've checked up on her, looking for anything that might explain this, but, uh..." Sometimes he hated his job. Especially the parts where he had to talk. "Is it alright if I poke around a bit? See if I can find anything?"

"Fine." Herbert climbed to his feet, and shepherded Carl down a narrow hallway. Her room was up a narrow flight of stairs, and looked... well, normal. Slightly cluttered, mostly with books and a rumpled sweater thrown over the headboard of her bed. He could already tell quite a bit, just from a glance. Very... not _Spartan,_ exactly. There was a poster of Alexandria tacked up on a closet door and a calming blue paint job, but it still seemed empty to him. Weird, and a bit off-putting, although he was probably overthinking it.

"Was she having any trouble at school?" he asked, moving further into the room and looking around. "Her file mentioned an... incident, and if this was an ongoing problem..." he trailed off, awkwardly.

"Yes," Herbert replied, his voice cracking a bit. "She didn't tell me much, and we tried to talk to the administration, but..."

 _I hate this city._ "I'm sorry to hear that, and I will do my best to make sure the school is held accountable." Idly, he poked around a bit at her desk, noting a few book titles. Mostly textbooks, with a few paperbacks thrown in.

"Did she have a boyfriend, girlfriend?" he asked, scanning the bookcase against the far wall. Herbert just shook his head, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Carl wasn't sure how to continue. He'd read her file already, well, _skimmed_. The bit about the locker... Winslow really was a shithole.

"May I?" he asked again, gesturing at the closet door, slightly ajar.

"What are you looking for?"

"Anything that might give us a bit of a hint. Ticket stubs, phone numbers..." _Drugs._ "I don't have a warrant or anything, if you feel I'm being invasive just let me know. But, this is the kind of thing that gives us our best chance of finding her."

Herbert nodded reluctantly, and Carl gently poked the door open. Mostly jeans and sweatshirts, dark colors. On the top shelf, a notebook caught his eye, but it was Herbert who lifted it off the shelf. He made an odd noise, flicking through a couple pages and handing it over.

It was gibberish. Obviously a diary of some kind, if she'd bothered putting it in code. That probably didn't speak well of her emotional wellbeing, but he wasn't a shrink. Next to where it had rested was a tall stack of papers. With another glance at Herbert, he took it down and peered at the first page, skipping through the entries.

 _September 8th, 2010; Six vicious emails. Sophia pushed me down the stairs, made me drop my books. Shoved me three times in the gym, threw my clothes at me in the shower afterward. Class afterwards..._

 _September 9th, 2010; Encouraged other girls to make fun of me, still wearing the backpack from yesterday. Had to change my email address..._

 _September 10th, 2010; Homeroom, poured glue on my chair, had to sit behind Madison..._

He stopped then, thumbing through the thick stack of paper. Each one was filled, in neat, careful handwriting, with day after day of incidents. Beside him, Herbert was staring at the documents in horror.

"Right," he said, voice tight. "I'd like you to know, if any of this turns out to be related to some 'prank,' I will do everything in my power to throw the book at them." The man nodded, still fuming.

With a sigh, he turned to go. "Thank you, Mr. Herbert."

"Hebert."

"Hmm?"

"My name. It's Hebert, no R."

Carl coughed, embarrassed, and mumbled an apology before fumbling to change the subject. "I'd like to take these with me, down to the station." As there was no objection, he began to walk towards the exit.

Something stopped him. He knelt down, examining a shiny object on the carpet. A small round ball of what looked like metal. In high school, he'd seen this kind of thing in shop class. It looked like a drop of solder.

"What's in this room?" asked Carl, flicking his gaze up to the door in front of him.

"Basement," replied Hebert, looking over his shoulder at the tiny object in his palm.

It was _probably_ some kind of project, maybe for school. Still, couldn't hurt to check. "Mind if I poke around a bit?"

"There isn't much down there, just a few boxes, but go ahead."

The door swung open with a quiet groan, and a long, dark stairwell appeared before him. It was like something out of a horror movie, which wasn't that far out of the realm of possibility given the capes on the news every day. He made sure to flick on the light, and was almost surprised when it worked perfectly. Descending the stairs with a few creaks, he made his way into a dimly lit room.

There were indeed boxes. Boxes which were piled up rather high, suspiciously far from the back of the room. Carl was almost certain he was being paranoid, but for some reason he couldn't seem to stop imagining some sort of Armageddon bomb ticking away the final few seconds. Cautiously, he leaned around the pile of boxes, and spotted a telltale glint of metal. With a slow, steady movement, he dug into the heap.

"Holy shit," he murmured.

It looked like the skeleton of a Terminator. He recognized some of the bits and pieces used to make it, mostly car parts and rusty piping. Actual _paper clips_ had been braided together into a thick mesh, over a long strip of... something. It was a deep, iridescent blue-green, shining even in the dim light of the basement. There were bits of it everywhere, he realized, on the legs and arms especially. He wasn't sure how the girl had cooked that up in a basement, but... well... tinkers.

There was a lot of damage, and part of him wondered idly which gang leader the poor kid had managed to piss off. Damn, that was probably the work of _Lung,_ judging by the bits that were warped, as if they'd been heated up and bent. Numbly, he fumbled in his pocket for his work phone, and quick-dialed Rennings, his colleague in charge of relations with the PRT.

"Hey Mark. I found what looks like a tinker workshop. There's some armor here that looks pretty badly damaged, possibly by Lung. Mind calling it in for me?"

Five minutes later, he was back in the living room. Hebert had collapsed on the couch, head in hands. "Well..." Carl trailed off, searching for words. "This might be a bit above my paygrade." Daniel Hebert managed a watery smile, but it vanished almost instantly.

"I can't believe I didn't realize. I mean... I knew something was different, but..."

"This is probably a good thing," Carl assured him. "Kick something far enough up the chain of command, and there's usually someone with the resources to solve the problem." And if there was one thing he'd learned from lunch breaks with Rennings, it was that the Protectorate always wanted more tinkers.

Hebert didn't seem reassured. With a sad look, he rose from the couch and wandered back into the hallway, with the stack of carefully cataloged torments in his hands.


	7. Be Good

"Hold on."

Harrison put a hand out in front of me, stopping me halfway down a narrow, seedy-looking alleyway. The 'armor' on his arm made a few faint clacking noises, reminding me of mindless action-movies I used to watch as a kid, centered around heroes in power suits. Much like the props in the movies, the outer layer of the armor was just for show. It would have annoyed me more, but I was too busy turning my head around and around, trying to properly appreciate the view.

Everything seemed so much _bigger_ than I remembered. Buildings towered over me, and the streets looked like they went on forever. The moon was out, almost but not quite full, and it peered through a gap between two dark clouds. The light it cast was dim, but still managed to be almost blinding after more than a week underground. A cool breeze began to pick up, and I found myself wishing I could take off my helmet and let it ruffle my hair.

As usual, Mr. Harrison interrupted my train of thought. "Do you know your part, sweet?"

I nodded absentmindedly. Ever since I finished the suits this morning, he'd been drilling me on our cover story. He was supposed to be Sentry, my uncle and partner, helping me use the armor I built to make some money to support ourselves. Not much of a story, truth be told, but it wasn't like we were actually supposed to be telling it. It was just a reference, for how we should act and what conclusions people should come to.

Harrison wasn't done, and he coughed pointedly to get my attention. "It seems every group will be split up, to make sure no one does any backstabbing. I did my best convincing them to let us stick together, but villains can be quite stubborn." He grinned, the expression just barely visible behind his visor. "When in doubt, just don't speak. Parahumans tend to have odd quirks like that anyway. Be the strong, silent type." Nodding, I glanced further down the alley, eager to leave.

"And remember," he said, tapping the side of his jaw. "Be good." There was a microphone embedded in my helmet, somewhere. It would be sending everything I said to a prepaid phone, probably near Coil. _No mouthing off._

"Fine," I told him, and we were on our way. Once we were out of the alley, Harrison led me down several small streets. This area was completely alien to me, but I could tell it was the bad part of town, with ABB gang tags on the buildings and some trash on the ground. After another minute or two of brisk walking, he gestured toward a run-down warehouse.

"You're meeting in there."

As we entered through a sliding door that looked rusted open, someone stepped right into our path. He was tall, and with the black and red theme of his costumed I decided he was probably part of the Empire. A suspicion Harrison confirmed a moment later.

"Victor," he greeted, stepping forward slightly.

"I was under the impression," Victor said, a definite edge to his voice, "That we were splitting up the teams. You agreed to this. Planning something, are we?"

"With two capes?" Harrison smirked. "No. I'm just dropping off my partner."

The Empire cape stared him down for another moment, before moving aside. He put a hand up in front of Harrison, and gestured at me. "Just her."

He smiled amiably behind the visor, an expression that was just close enough to genuine that it made me want to smack him. "Great! So long as no one harm comes to her, I won't have to rip out your spine." He then turned on his heel and vanished around a corner.

Despite everything, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease as Harrison departed. He was a monster, but at least I knew what to expect. Keeping my eyes on my boots, I slunk past Victor and into the warehouse. All around me, members of almost every noteworthy group of villains in the city were standing in the same decrepit building, ready for the first coordinated raid on the ABB.

Almost immediately, I was paralyzed by pure terror. Across the warehouse, one of Coil's men was staring intently in my direction, and I realized just how bad this could go if I fucked up. Would the guys in black just put a bullet in my head, or would I have to wait until I was back underground, far away from any semi-friendly eyes? What was I supposed to _say?_ 'Hi, how's the villainy today?' _Fuck!_

After a few seconds of turning this way and that, looking for a place to go, I defaulted to standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, fighting to control my breathing.

"You must be Cobalt," noted a voice from behind me. I jumped, then whirled around and stared directly into a metal welding mask. "Sorry," she said, "Didn't mean to startle you." For a second, I was locked in place, searching for something to say and coming up completely and utterly _blank._

"Yeah," I mumbled, once I unfroze. I still wasn't used to the name, though I hadn't come up with anything better while I was brainstorming. Harrison had suggested it, and I'd shrugged and made my 'armor' bright blue to fit.

"Faultline," she replied. I recognized her costume from my research, before I'd fought Lung. Nodding politely, she turned and strode back toward her teammate. In the dim lighting of the room, he looked at first glance like an obese man, but it didn't take that close a look to notice the strange transparency of his skin. Hard shell-like growths protruded from almost every inch of it, and I could see the vague outlines of his internal organs where his costume didn't cover him. He was Gregor the Snail, from what I remembered of my limited cape research.

Unsure of what else to do, I slunk over to the wall and leaned against it, wishing we could just _go_ already. No sooner had I started to relax when I heard more footfalls, coming from outside. Two more capes walked through the door, and I recognized one of them in an instant. Tattletale.

Maybe it wasn't fair to blame her for the mess I'd ended up in, but one lesson that had been hammered home in the last few years, brutally and repeatedly, was that life wasn't fair. Almost without realizing it, I found myself tensing—and with me, my skeleton. The artificial muscle attached to it tugged at me, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Funnily enough, it was my artificial limbs that reacted first, relaxing and hanging off my trembling arms. I guessed the steel was one step further removed from my more irrational impulses. They were _mine,_ not something I had to fight my hindbrain for control over.

As I let my hands fall to my sides, I felt pressure building in every nerve, urging me on. Grimacing, I stared down at my boots and clenched a fist, carefully so as not to bend the metal in my glove. I did _not_ want to deal with this. I wanted to beat up some thugs and go home.

 _Fuck._ Home wasn't something I could afford to think about, not here. I bit my lip, hoping my visor would conceal the tears brimming in my eyes. It was uncomfortable, knowing the water was there and having it blur my vision, but not being able to brush it away. There was no way I'd burst into tears in front of a bunch of supervillains. _Especially_ Tattletale, not least because she'd probably know why within ten seconds flat, judging by how easily she'd discovered something _I_ didn't even know.

 _Damn_ it, why couldn't there be a hero with that power? I could just get into a fight, they'd realize what was going on and... no. No daydreaming. Not here. Another shuddering breath, and I was done. Looking up, I saw a guy leaning against the wall not five feet away, grinning. He was the same cape that had walked in with Tattletale, and I recognized him from the night I fought Lung. Regent, I thought his name was.

"'Sup?" He twirled a scepter between his fingers. "Missing daddy?" _Yes._

"He's not my dad," I snapped.

"Alright, alright," he said airily, holding his hands up, the scepter clasped in his right palm. "Just asking a question. No need to bite my head off."

"No need to be an ass."

"But it's so much _fun."_ He looked around, then leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially, "Check it out." A nudge, and he pointed across the room.

Following his gesture, I noticed Tattletale chatting with a villain dressed in black, complete with a top hat. His blood red mask was the only spot of color on him, and by the way it was turned toward her and the irritated posture he was adopting, I guessed he was glaring at her. I couldn't hear what they were saying at this distance, but I figured he probably had good reason to be annoyed.

Regent inched even closer. "Watch this," he murmured, and gave a small flick of his wrist just as his teammate was gesturing with her right hand. She slapped herself in the back of the head. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think it was natural.

Her head snapped around toward Regent, who turned abruptly to face me. "So," he drawled, "About that fascinating conversation we were having, which did not at all involve any nefarious activity!"

"Of course not," I said dryly, barely holding in a laugh.

He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but was interrupted by Faultline. "Everyone's finally here," she said, glancing pointedly at Tattletale and another newcomer who I didn't recognize. "So we should be good to go in a few minutes."

Regent yawned theatrically, and I couldn't help but agree. Shifting from foot to foot, I found my entire body was almost vibrating from anticipation. Right down to my shining metal bones, I felt the need to piss off an unhealthy amount of heavily armed thugs.


	8. Two Blinks

Terrified screams echoed around me as my feet slapped the pavement. There were staccato bursts of gunfire, shouts and curses. A loud report echoed in my ears, and a bullet ricocheted off my metal gauntlet, leaving a shallow gouge and stripping off a bit of the blue enamel. Without really meaning to, I let out a bark of wild laughter as I continued my mad dash. A few more gangsters, who looked ready to panic, switched targets from Victor to me. Probably because an unknown tinker giggling like a maniac is one of those bad signs that are universal.

Another shot grazed my leg, to even less effect than the first. It was really good to know that my armor was working. I'd been running blind when I made it, since my power didn't cover that kind of thing. It used the same alloy as my 'bones,' so I'd been fairly sure it would protect me, but confirmation was nice. Ironic, how the only thing I've ever built just for show ended up being the most directly useful so far.

With a last manic surge of speed, I collided with the first ABB member in my path. He pointed his gun directly at my visor, and for a moment I panicked. The muzzle of the gun seemed to take up more space than it should, expanding in my field of vision until it obscured everything else. Desperately, I flailed my right arm and felt my hand collide with his elbow, making a nasty cracking sound. He howled, and clawed ineffectually at my helmet with his uninjured hand, apparently unable to pull the trigger. Feeling slightly dazed, I watched his fingers slide down in front of my face, before I kneed him hard in the stomach. A pathetic whimper, and he crumpled to the ground, retching.

I didn't see the guy behind him until an aluminum baseball bat was heading straight for my chest. It bounced off with a loud metallic chime, and a slight tingling sensation told me that I'd have a bruise there later. Not feeling pain has its perks, and I didn't even flinch before aiming a kick at his shin. Stepping back out of my reach, he sent the bat careening toward me on the backswing. Without my thinking about it, my hand shot up and grabbed it at about shoulder height. I yanked the weapon from his hands, and barely noticed the glint in his other hand before the knife ricocheted off my side. Frustrated, I punched him in the solar plexus, and he fell.

I spun around, poised to defend myself from another attack, but there was no one nearby. The fighting had moved inside, and without a second's hesitation I burst through the door into the rundown ABB drughouse. It was a large, wide open space, with a staircase leading up to where I assumed their stash was kept. This level seemed to be more of a hangout for the guards to rest when they weren't at the door, if the now smashed flatscreen on the far wall was any indication. There were barely any guards left, but I sprang forward anyway. Regent was backing away from one grunt with a crowbar, grinning widely as his opponent jerked and twitched with every other step. With a mental shrug, I headed his way.

Stretching my metal muscles felt good in a way that was hard to describe. There were nerves in them—as far as I could tell, I couldn't make them if they weren't. They could feel, to an extent, and doing something like this, really _working_ with them, was like scratching an itch just beneath the skin. In four long steps, I caught up with the ganger and smashed him in the side of the head with one armored fist. He crumpled, groaning, and I flashed Regent a mock salute.

Capes, even the ones with seemingly mediocre powers, could go through normals like hot knives through butter. By the time I turned back to face the rest of the warehouse, Gregor the Snail was busy gluing the last ABB man standing to a nearby wall.

I skidded to a stop, with an odd mental lurch as I switched back out of combat mode. More than a little disappointed, I trudged over to a thick support pillar near the middle of the room and leaned against it.

"Bored?" Regent asked, from where he slouched in the nearby corner, poking at a fallen gunman with his foot.

"Over too fast," I admitted.

He raised an eyebrow. "You should try a cape fight. Much more fun, I'm told." The frightening thing was, I'd already thought that. Some part of me wanted a rematch with Lung, even though I knew from experience that it would only end in pain. I thought I could chalk that up to cabin fever, but it still bothered me how reckless I was getting.

I was broken out of my thoughts by Trickster tossing a few plastic cuffs at me, jolting me into action. Once we'd finished tying up all the guards, the group of villains dispersed into the night. I glanced over to where Regent and Tattletale were heading down an alley, and after a moments hesitation I started after them.

Even as I started jogging to keep up, I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. Coil's men were nowhere to be found, though, and without their ominous presence I felt a lot braver. I needed to confront her. If I didn't, I couldn't be sure I'd get the chance again for days, or even weeks. I needed to do _something,_ to let someone know just how little I appreciated their contribution to the cosmic fuckup that had become my life.

Before they'd gone more than a dozen steps, she stopped and whirled around. With no small amount of satisfaction, I noticed her eyes widen a bit beneath the mask. Regent just smirked. "You lost or something?" he asked, gesturing lazily at the buildings around us.

"Look, can we talk?" I asked, without glancing at him.

Tattletale turned to her teammate. "Regent?"

"Yeah?"

"Give us a minute."

He snorted, and with an airy shrug turned back down the alley. Stopping just out of earshot, he leaned up against the wall and made a 'go on' gesture with one hand.

Sudden inspiration hit me, and I locked eyes with Tattletale, widening my stance into something more open and working my jaw back and forth behind my visor. A tilt of the head, the most minute of shakes, like I was trying to get water out of my ear. _I'm bugged,_ I desperately hoped I was telling her. _But we can still talk._

"You fucked up," I said aloud, keeping my voice as cold as I could and clenching both hands into fists. _You owe me,_ I thought at her. _Now, are you as smart as you think you are?_

"Yeah..." she replied, slowly. "And I amsorry about that, really. I didn't _know."_ Was that an acknowledgment?

"Yet somehow I'm still living in a basement, having _conversations_ with the wall." _Are we really talking?_ Her hand twitched, subtly suggesting a thumbs-up.

"I couldn't have seen that coming," she complained, reaching up and adjusting her mask. Seen? Something to do with her eyes?

"Aren't you supposed to be a thinker?" I asked, annoyed. _Which I am not. Give me something to work with._

"I'm not a _precog,"_ she protested, widening her eyes slightly as she finished the sentence. I just glared at her. _What the hell is that supposed to mean?!_ She continued on without further explanation—at least, not that I could tell. "I'm sorry things went bad for you, but I'm not taking the blame for it." She blinked twice. My glare intensified.

With a small huff, she deliberately blinked once, dipped her head almost imperceptibly, then twice, turning her head ever so slightly to the side. It clicked, as I realized she was using a common system of blinking, once for 'yes' and twice for 'no.'

"That's bullshit," I noted, crossing my arms in front of me. _Stop assuming I know what the fuck I'm doing!_ "And you _know_ it." _I got your code._

She flicked her eyes skyward, and for once I read her meaning easily. _Finally._ Resisting the urge to send her a not-so-subtle hand signal, I leaned my head out a bit and turned my palms a few degrees toward the sky. _What were you trying to say?_ I noticed a widening of her eyes, and a flick of her hand toward me. My helmet? Visor?

"What do you want, anyway?" she asked, "Why are you here?" Confused, I tilted my head to the side. _What does that have to do with anything?!_

Two blinks. No? Nothing to do with anything?

One blink.

"I... guess I needed closure." She actually snorted at that, then folded her arms.

"There's a camera in your visor, so there's no point asking me for favors." _Fuck._ Was I imagining the whole hidden conversation?

Two blinks.

 _Then what—_

"But if you need to yell at me, I guess I deserve it." Was she acknowledging her guilt, and saying she'd help me? But that seemed overly—

One blink. All I had to do was rant at her for a few minutes, and simultaneously ask for a favor. I felt almost lightheaded, dizzy at the prospect of an actual _chance,_ a way out. Even so, I couldn't stop thinking that getting my hopes up from this chance only meant I had farther to fall.

Fuck it. "I... don't know if that would do any good," I admitted. _Shouting would be nice, but I need to be proactive, here._ "I've spent too much _time_ being angry, anyway." _Time, okay? I need time, to build... something. Anything, to give me an edge. Maybe let me get away and protect my dad._

"That's big of you. We'll see—" One blink. "—how that works out." _I'll try, but no promises._

"Might come back to you, about that yelling thing," I noted. _We're not even yet._ "But thanks..." _for trying._ "...for the offer.

She grinned, and gave me a little wave before turning to catch up with Regent. Halfway down the alley, she froze mid-step.

"Tattletale?" I asked, confused.

"Shit," she muttered, turning to face me.

No—not me. I whirled around, and glimpsed a dim glow in the distance. Even as I watched, a massive plume of red-gold flames erupted from behind far-off rooftops.

"That's where Sentry went," I said mildly, barely managing to remember his cape name. With Tattletale there, I didn't bother pretending to be worried... although she more than made up for it. That might have had something to do with the way I was smiling.

 _Harrison,_ I thought, _I hope he eats you._


	9. A Cloud of Ash

I had maybe a second. One second of pure schadenfreude at the thought of Harrison facing a flaming, rage-fueled dragon. The break from reality was nice while it lasted.

Reluctantly, I shut down my malicious glee and focused on the obvious dark side of Lung's rampage. I knew firsthand how hellish it was to try and fight him, and that he didn't much care about collateral damage once he was amped up. There was no guarantee that the section of the docks that was currently on fire wasn't called home by some squatter or another, to say nothing of what might happen if the fight migrated to more populated areas. Even if it were just the villains around, well, Coil was watching, and it would seem _very_ strange if I sat on the curb smirking while my 'partner' got burned to a crisp. Regardless of what Coil might think, the people I was working with might be criminals—but they weren't _evil._ I couldn't honestly say that I'd turn the other cheek and save Coil if he were in danger, but he was an extreme case. Fautline and the Undersiders I was fairly certain both had a policy against killing, and regardless of what I might think of them, I wouldn't want the deaths of any Empire capes on my hands either, if I could help it.

All of which meant, I'd have to fight Lung again. For a given definition of _again,_ since last time I'd mainly played cat and mouse, with questionable success, until the Undersiders and Armsmaster showed up and put him down. In all likelihood, I wouldn't be able to do much of anything against him, when he'd already been fighting for this long, but that didn't mean I wouldn't try.

I had to do something. That was certain, but actually getting myself to _move_ was another thing entirely. My previous experience had taught my subconscious that messing around with Lung was _bad._ Not untrue, but inconvenient when I was trying to do something stupid and brave. I was still trying to talk myself into heading for the fight when I jumped at the sudden sound of an engine, off to my right.

Turning, I faced a featureless black van with the driver's side window rolled down. From behind the wheel a massive, broad-shouldered mercenary stared at me, covered from head to toe in dark clothing. Only his eyes were visible, gleaming beneath his mask.

"Get in," he said. He had a surprisingly normal voice, for such an intimidating figure. I gripped a piece of metal bone jutting out from just above my waist, terrified that I'd done something wrong. Would Tattletale have reported me? Even as I was preparing myself to be marched back to Coil's base, a female voice called out from the back of the vehicle.

"Cobalt," she greeted me, and as I walked around the van and approached the open doors I beheld a blank welding mask, glinting in the light of a nearby streetlamp. In the very back of the van, Gregor the Snail leaned against the back of the passenger's seat, much to the consternation of the soldier occupying it. "We'll find your partner," Faultline promised, moving aside to make room for me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, and hoisted myself up beside her. There weren't any seats for us, since I assumed this part of the truck was normally for cargo, so we all sat cross-legged in a little triangle. Moments like this were probably a large part of the reason most of the more prominent cape groups had at least one good mover; there was something slightly ridiculous about an entire team of parahumans needing to hitch a ride in the middle of an engagement.

As the car started accelerating, I noticed the two Undersiders jogging up to us, and within moments a pair of gloves gripped the doorway. Swinging herself inside, Tattletale winked at me—or possibly Fautline, who managed to scowl even through her mask. Regent was right behind her, and as he closed the doors behind him I felt the van pick up speed much more quickly.

"Nice of them to give us a lift," Tattletale observed, giving me a _look_. I shrugged, somewhat nervous about talking in front of Fautline and Gregor. Not wanting to accidentally give something away, I withdrew into myself and hoped they would assume that I was worried about Harrison.

Gregor wasn't inclined to let me brood in silence. "Your partner is fighting Lung," he said, simply. Despite his odd appearance, his voice was kind, with a hint of what I thought might be a Scandinavian accent. Suppressing a flash of annoyance that it was _this_ he decided to be sympathetic about, I merely nodded and returned to staring at my knees. "We have people there as well." He smiled encouragingly. "As do all the rest. Another useful result of splitting the teams. Everyone is going to concentrate on pulling as soon as we can, and if Lung manages to keep the fight going much longer, he'll have to deal with the heroes. Sentry will be fine."

It was odd how much better that made me feel, even though I legitimately couldn't care less about Harrison's health. Maybe it was just the way he said it, like he was imparting great wisdom and comfort at the same time. I mustered a weak smile, because as misguided as it was, it was the most honest effort anyone had made to comfort me since... probably before high school. My chest ached, and I wished bitterly that I'd told my dad _something._ I wanted some memory of him trying to make it better, even if it was shot down by the administration and Emma's lawyer father.

I felt a burning sensation in the back of my throat, but there was no way I was going to cry here. Pushing all thoughts of dad away, I focused on the van, the way it rocked and bumped along the road and the slight swaying of my fellow passengers. Above all, I remembered Harrison, his condescending bullshit and fake smile. The fear and loneliness burned away, channeled into a cold rage that set my metal muscles itching. Lung was, in his own way, partially responsible for my new living arrangements. I suddenly found myself suppressing a savage grin, and clenched my fists over my knees.

Glancing up and out the window, I did a double take as I realized how fast we were moving. Buildings disappeared beyond the horizon at an almost dizzying rate, and I couldn't help but feel slightly nauseous at the way they whirled around like a merry-go-round whenever we turned. Tattletale noticed my discomfort almost instantly, which wasn't particularly surprising, and smirked. I'd never seen anyone put as much smug amusement into one facial expression before.

"Don't worry about it," she said. I might've been touched, if she wasn't still wearing that mocking smile. "Coil's people are good at what they do." Something about the look in her eye when she said that made me nervous.

I just shrugged— _I don't get it_ —and settled back against the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Faultline glancing suspiciously at Tattletale, who put on a look of innocence that was almost convincing. Again, the gesture was ruined by her grin, although I was beginning to think that was just her default expression.

"We're getting close," called the woman riding shotgun, from where she was seated almost back to back with Gregor. My index finger tapped a frantic rhythm against my right knee, and the tension in the back of the truck mounted with every block. Finally, we slowed to a stop several streets away from the conflict.

"That's as far as I'm going," announced the driver, and the odd band of villains clambered out from the truck like hornets out of a nest. I took off, sprinting as fast as I could toward the center of the fire. Someone called after me, but I was too far away to tell who, or what they'd said. I was entirely focused on my breathing. It was easy and regular, since my synthetic muscles didn't need oxygen, and I took fleeting pleasure in the way it matched the beat of my feet against the pavement.

I was still running, blood barely starting to pump, when a man in a demonic mask appeared in front of me. There was no time to stop, so I angled my body so that I rammed into him with my shoulder, my skeleton taking the brunt of the impact and leaving me bruised, but not badly hurt.

The cape, however, crumbled to dust. I whirled around, recognizing Lung's top lieutenant, the teleporter Oni Lee. As I'd thought, he was behind me, ready to drive a knife into my back. There must've been a chink in the armor I'd made, but my movement was enough to throw off his aim. It glanced off harmlessly, and I managed to grab his wrist in one hand before he could pull away.

He vanished, replaced by a shower of ashes. I lost my balance, and reeled backwards before I planted one foot firmly on the ground, leaving a few thin cracks in the asphalt. Another Lee popped into being and slashed at me with his knife. I blocked the strike easily on my forearm, and stepped back. Cursing myself for going on the defensive, I swiped at another clone's left hand, trying to stop him from pulling the pin of a grenade.

"Go!" someone shouted, and pulled me away as it went off. Turning, I gaped in shock at Harrison, still standing and more or less unhurt.

This meant, as it turned out, that he was very lucky. When another clone appeared to his left, I saw him stiffen up, and his reaction was much slower than it should've been. I could tell that he'd forgotten for a moment to use the metallic muscles in addition to his organic ones, and the mistake earned him a shallow cut between his shoulder guard and chestplate. Flinching in surprise rather than pain, as his skeleton included the same tech mine did, he slapped the clone upside the head. The force of the blow more than enough to be fatal, and he burst into a cloud of ash.

Trying not to think too hard about the killing potential I'd given one of my least favorite human beings, I plunged into combat after him. Dozens of Oni Lee's clones appeared and disappeared as fast as we could kill them, and it didn't take a genius to realize that we needed to change tactics. A teleporting duplicator was probably one of the worst types of opponents for me to fight. I could deal with each clone easily enough, but without any kind of enhanced reflexes or ranged attack, there was no way for me to hurt him in return. They might not have looked like it, but my metal muscles were still _muscles,_ and ran off energy converted from my own body's supply. No matter how much more efficient they were than my human limbs,they would get tired eventually, and then I'd be out of luck.

I needed to do something different, that Oni Lee wouldn't expect. Frantically watching his movements for any kind of pattern, I was taken by surprise when something large and heavy landed on me from _above._

We didn't do anything as dramatic as crash to the ground. My skeleton was heavy, and unlike power armor, it shared my basic instincts. Human beings walked on two rather small feet, and if it weren't for our incredible balance we'd spend our entire lives picking ourselves off the ground. There wasn't any need for thought, about how to move my armor. It was a part of me, just like my legs, and it staggered and leaned with me as I bore the blow.

Unfortunately for me, this particular Lee was holding a grenade. Harrison shouted an unnecessary warning, and I lunged for the wall, slamming the clone into it with as much force as I could muster. He burst apart, and the grenade fell to the ground with a tiny clink. I powered my legs as fast as they would go, sprinting away and turning to watch the explosion.

Then, I felt something cold at my back. The light tingling that corresponded to injury spread through me, and I barely had time to take in a dark, demonic mask before the clone holding me up disintegrated.

My knees took the brunt of the fall, and I noted with detached satisfaction that my skeleton had stood up to it well. I felt... tired. Exhausted, to the point where I wanted nothing more than to lie down on the hard, cold street and sleep. Holding myself up was so much effort...

Someone was shouting, and I noticed Harrison grabbing me by the arm, patting my shoulder. I couldn't really feel it through the armor, so he was wasting his time. I was fine, anyway. Just... tired. He didn't need to worry about me. I'd lie down for a bit, and then be feeling... just...


	10. Flesh and Gore

I don't think I blacked out.

Not that I can be totally sure, since I was pretty out of it at the time, but it felt less like unconsciousness and more like... drifting. Sort of like floating on my back in the ocean, somewhere where the waves are small and gentle. I could still see Sentry as he grappled with another Oni Lee, but it all felt very distant, and I couldn't bring myself to care.

I could see a tall, angular shape kneeling down next to me, and for a moment I was confused. All I could make out under the mask was the faint outline of a narrow nose and wide mouth, set in a worried frown. It looked like a caricature to me, as if it was somehow blown way out of proportion, like those soap operas where characters flip out over nothing. Although, I supposed getting stabbed was a decent reason for one of those looks.

The face looked familiar, but my mind was so fuzzy. "Dad?" I asked, because who else would look so worried about me?

"No, honey," the face said, the frown deepening into a grimace. "Stay with me, okay?"

"Not goin' anywhere," I slurred. "Got stabbed."

"You're going into shock," he insisted. "You have to focus." There was a faint twinge of dread, something important I couldn't remember, so I decided to focus on that. Something to do with the face, of it being wrong. It wasn't dad, but it had already told me that. It was Harrison, I realized, not some stranger and not my father. I hated Harrison.

Another clone appeared behind him, and I tried to slur out a warning. He turned, and took the knife on his armored forearm. Wresting it from Lee's grasp, he drove it into the clone's chest. He and the knife both burst into ash, and I noticed some of it flutter down onto my visor.

Harrison shook my shoulder, hard. I knew it would've hurt, but I'd disabled pain for the fight. Probably not a good idea, in the future. It would help me snap out of this... daze, or whatever it was. Or knock me out faster, but I could think about that later. Grimacing, I reached out to the metal parts of my body while keeping my real limbs as still as I could. Harrison tried to push me back down, but I managed to shove an arm beneath me to grab at the wound. With him fighting off the clones, it was up to me to stop the bleeding.

Yet another copy appeared, but before it could move to attack us it was ambushed by a strangely bulky figure that I didn't recognize. The creature began luring Lee further away from us, running full-out at a much faster pace than I would have expected from its stubby legs. I watched dazedly as the odd-looking cape barreled into a broken down warehouse, with Oni Lee following on its heels.

"Damn it," Harrison muttered, and hoisted me up into a fireman's carry. "Lung's getting too close," he said, half to himself. I could see out of the corner of my eye that the sporadic plumes of flame marking the main battle were indeed only a few blocks away. Which, as I'd learned the hard way, wasn't far enough.

Even when I couldn't really feel it, being carried still made me wince at how badly I must be stretching the wound. I could see the asphalt receding behind us as I hung toward the ground, yellow dotted lines flowing past like water.

So, I could see the massive dog that skidded around the corner about six blocks down, with Regent and Tattletale clinging to its back. I tapped Harrison on the shoulder, and he shot a glance behind him. He muttered something that might have been a curse, but sprinted diagonally across the street to where they were.

"Where the hell is Othala?!" he demanded, as soon as the two were close enough to hear him.

"That way," Tattletale panted, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. I could feel Harrison slowing down, but before he got the chance to turn around, a thunderous roar split the air.

"Past Lung," she added, wincing apologetically.

"'ILL 'OO!" shouted the ten-foot-tall flaming metal dragon.

"Fuck," Harrison muttered, pouring on the speed.

"Split up, he might chase us!" Tattletale yelled, and the mutant dog turned another corner, easily outpacing us.

"Cobalt?" Harrison asked, shifting me slightly on his shoulder, "Do you think you can run?"

"Yeah," I managed, and with that I was hitting the ground, wincing at the jarring landing. He tugged me along behind him for a few steps, before I managed to get my feet under me and follow him.

A burst of fire bloomed over my shoulder, and I tucked and rolled to the side to avoid the searing heat. I could feel how soaked my costume was, and it probably wasn't a good sign that there was a loud ringing in my ears. Lung roared, and I swayed from side to side, barely managing to grab hold of the side of a building. Apparently he'd decided to kill the slower prey first.

Once I was steady on my feet again, I found myself staring directly down Lung's red-hot throat. Four jaws opened like petals on a flower, and a long serpentine tongue flicked between them as he readied himself to pounce.

"Shit," I murmured, and jerked to my feet. Adrenaline really is a wonderful thing. Still, even with what felt like fire running through me, I took barely a step backwards before my back hit a wall.

With Lung's face so close and his alien jaws opened wide, I went the only way left to me. Jumping up as high as I could, I grabbed one of the spiny ridges above his forehead and rolled over his head, tumbling down his back and onto the ground. My feet were screaming in protest, having taken the tail end of another blast of fire. He whirled around, hand already in flames, but then Harrison had reached me and was dragging me out of the way.

The dragon hissed, staring at us with molten eyes. Without warning, he lunged, pouncing at Harrison and unleashing a massive gout of fire. Again, Harrison tugged my uncooperative body behind him, supporting me whenever I stumbled and propelling me down the street.

"We need to get around him," Harrison told me, ducking into an alleyway and pulling me after him. "The rest of the villains were engaging him before, but I'm guessing he got ahead of them while he was chasing the Undersiders. They should be around—"

Another deafening roar cut him off as Lung sent a jet of fire toward us, filling the alley with blue and yellow flames. We barely made it around the corner in time, and yet again Harrison had to tug me out of the way. I gritted my teeth, wishing I could run on my own. We could split up, and maybe I could slip away, if...

No. There wasn't any time for this, I knew where that train of thought led already. I had to focus—Lung was hot on our heels, jumping and clawing his way down from the rooftops. He was too big now to fit down the narrow alley, so he'd opted to go up and over.

"Over here!" Harrison shouted, and as I turned to where he was looking I saw a group of villains, most of them Empire, racing towards us.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I took in the set of Lung's mangled jaw and the way he stood tall and straight, his tail lashing against the apartment building behind him. He wasn't afraid—everything about his posture seemed to radiate confidence. Even if he couldn't really speak anymore, the message was clear. "You want to fight? Come at me."

And the next instant, we were behind the front lines, limping along as villains passed us left and right. "Need a healer," Harrison gasped, as we ducked behind the ankles of one of the giantess twins. The front line soon passed us, as we kept sprinting down the road. A group this large would slow Lung down, and I didn't _think_ he'd recognized me, but there was a limit to how much anyonecould do to stop him once he was big enough.

"This way," someone shouted, and I found myself being ushered along by an unfamiliar cape. I was almost certain he was one of Faultline's crew, since he had bright blue hair and orange skin that matched a description I'd read online. He led us into another alleyway off the main street, to where Othala was kneeling beside another of the valkyrie twins. There were burns running up and down her arms and face, and what looked like a claw mark across her stomach, but even as I watched they were fading away into nothing. She must've been hurt badly, if Othala was still healing her.

As soon as the woman was fully healed, her eyes fluttered open and she straightened up, already growing in size. She nodded to her teammate, and without a backward glance, strode in the direction of the ongoing battle.

"Othala," Harrison began, guiding me over to her.

"What happened," the villain asked, standing up.

"She's been stabbed," he snapped, the armor on his fists clacking together as he clenched them.

"I'll help, alright? I just need to know what we're dealing with here." Her voice was surprisingly warm, though I still winced as she moved her hands towards my face.

"For fuck's sake," she muttered. "I need skin contact."

Nodding my understanding, I lifted up my mask slightly and allowed her to lay a few fingers on my neck. I thought I could see her eyes tracking to the exposed skin, and gritted my teeth.

Then I felt a tide of warmth rush through me, and there was a fierce itching feeling radiating from my lower back. The itch spread all through my tired limbs, and within moments I was wiggling my toes in wonder. I hadn't felt this good in a long time, I realized, snapping back to alertness. Othala's healing must have given me an energy boost as well, since I felt like I'd just taken an eight hour nap.

Grinning, I got to my feet and straightened my mask. "Thank you," I said, surprised to find that I really did mean it. She nodded, then ran off toward the fight.

"Come on," Harrison said, tugging on my elbow. Behind his visor, I thought I could see a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. A part of me was still pissed that he'd carried me, but with all that was going on, I decided to let it pass.

Together we sprinted down the street, dodging bits of rubble and patches of melted concrete as we approached the battle. Lung was on fire, and with all the scorch marks on the buildings around him I guessed that he'd been so for a while.

He stood taller than ever, over ten feet as far as I could guess. There was something about his stance, his posture, that seemed like the very embodiment of pure animal _rage,_ his raw anger bleeding out of him in flame and glinting silver scales. I remembered hearing him roar, when I first fought him, and being surprised by how human he'd sounded. Now, he was so amped up I doubted there was anything left of his former body.

Facing the flaming metal dragon, the rest of the villain population of Brockton Bay stood in a rough approximation of unity. Fenja and Menja were shoulder to shoulder, blocking the street and lowering their weapons. That was all the front line we needed, and from behind them came one of the most impressive displays of parahuman firepower I'd seen so far. One cape in red and black was launching anything he could get his hands on at Lung, and at speeds that made him more artillery than telekinetic. Kaiser stood with his feet planted, one hand thrown up in a suitably dramatic pose as spines of metal ripped down the street and grew into gleaming fractal spines all over the street. Standing right beside him was Gregor the Snail, doing his best to hamper the ABB leader despite the fire and rubble everywhere.

Lung just bellowed in fury, shrugging off the blows with little difficulty and slamming into Fenja's shield. His claws scrabbled against the hard surface, before she dug one foot into the ground and _shoved._ Even as big as he was already, Lung was still dwarfed by the thirty-foot giant, and was toppled over backwards. He twisted in midair in a vain attempt to regain his balance before crashing into the ground floor of a ratty office building. It crumbled inwards, tons of brick and wood and plaster collapsing onto his prone form.

For just a heartbeat, I almost believed we'd won. The dust began to settle atop the remains of the apartment building, and the heat of the fight was starting to dissipate, creating a temporary illusion of silence.

Still, no matter how much I might have let myself hope, I wasn't all that surprised at the deafening roar that split the air, accompanied by a fresh burst of flame that shot out of the rubble. Lung could barely even be called a dragon anymore. He was a force of nature, fury personified into flesh and gore and shining metal scales, and the instant he screamed his challenge to us it seemed _ridiculous_ that I'd ever thought we might've won. Trapped as he was, he wasn't going to stay that way very long.

Biting at my lower lip, I shifted into a more ready stance, with my hands held out in front of me. Even as I made my best attempt at resistance, I was made very aware of just how useless I was in this fight, with no powers to speak of that could possibly threaten Lung. My body was almost absurdly fragile. Aches and pains I'd picked up since being healed were already making themselves known by way of slight tingling along my arms, and I resigned myself to a long night in my room. If I survived, anyway.

Before the roar had finished dying away, it was almost drowned out by a deep grinding noise coming from the middle of the rubble imprisoning Lung. The rest of the capes seemed to snap back into action, with Menja leading the charge with her spear lowered like a jousting lance.

I moved forward to join them, but before I could take half a step Tattletale was shouting, "White hats!"

Most of the assembled villains ignored her, choosing to keep on blasting the pile of rubble. Harrison on the other hand grabbed my shoulder. "We're beyond useless at this point," he told me, and began striding down the street. I knew, intellectually at least, that he was right. Even when I'd first engaged Lung that night I met the Undersiders, when he was barely seven feet tall and just starting up, I hadn't been able to do much more than play cat and mouse, hoping he'd waste enough time that he wouldn't be able to finish carrying out his plan. Now he was a virtually unstoppable killing machine, and I doubted I could so much as inconvenience him in my current gear.

All the same, I wanted to stay. I wanted to see the fight to its conclusion, not walk away when the city might still get burned to the ground. More than that, I still held on to some lingering hope that maybe one of the heroes would look at me and just... _know_ that I needed help. Tattletale could, and even if that was a bit unfair—pulling facts out of her ass seemed to be her power in a nutshell—I couldn't help but imagine Armsmaster making the connection between Cobalt and the nameless tinker he'd met before.

Still, Harrison sure as hell wasn't going to accept either of those reasons if it meant he was more likely to be found out by the heroes, or more immediately, pulverized by the next best thing to a dragon. He took hold of my armored shoulder and tugged, sending us both bolting down the street. Throwing a look over my shoulder, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a glowing figure that I thought might be Battery. For a moment, I considered making a break for it. It wouldn't even be that difficult, I'd have surprise on my side and would only have to outrun Harrison for a few blocks. The heroes were out in force, they could protect me from Coil if I asked them.

Biting my lip, I turned and faced straight ahead. I'd thought along those lines hundreds of times, and the fact remained that I wasn't willing to risk my dad getting hurt. Rehashing the same thing half a hundred times only made me more frustrated, and brought up the unanswerable question of what _else_ I could do, besides play along. And I was _never_ going to play along.

As I shook my head clear of uneasy thoughts, I found myself surprised by how drastically the temperature decreased as we sprinted further from the fight. It was like walking in fast forward from summer to winter, and I turned my sweat-soaked face toward the sky, hoping to let some small breeze in under my visor. _Damn pyrokinetics,_ I thought, wishing I could wipe my forehead. The night air was as much of a relief now as it was when I'd first left Coil's base, and I noticed that I was walking slower and slower, as if I could somehow delay the inevitable. Harrison was having none of it, and tugged me along by the wrist whenever I fell too far behind.

After a few blocks of this, Harrison turned us down a small side street flanked by two empty-looking warehouses with boarded up windows. Changing out of our costumes was simultaneously easier and more difficult than I suspected it was for most capes. On the upside, we didn't need to find some small corner to hide in while we stripped down, since the armor was uncomfortable to wear without some kind of clothing under it.

Then, there was the downside. I'd stretched my tech as far as it would go towards something like power armor, because I'd wanted to be able to undo whatever I did. But at its core, everything I built was meant to interface directly with my brain. This all meant that I needed to plug it in, for lack of a better phrase. The control unit perched at the base of my skull had three main contact points, each of which had to be driven into the back of my neck, where it would stop just short of my spine. From there, it could send and receive electrical signals from my nervous system to my skeleton.

Now, I had to rip it out. No damage would be done, since it didn't penetrate deep enough to sever any nerves, but the pain inhibitor was in the armor and it hurt like _hell._ If I weren't so squeamish about the slicing and dicing aspect of my power, I could've just kept it in indefinitely, but I hadn't come up with a viable way of hiding something like that from my dad. Regardless, as long as I was still working for Coil I didn't have many options as far as tech went, so I was stuck with it for the time being.

At the sound of a low hiss from behind me, I glanced at my partner in crime. I was suddenly reminded of that saying about taking negatives and turning them into positives. Maybe it wasn't the kind of healthy optimistic idea the phrase intended, but watching Harrison screw up his face and squirm while he took out his control unit made my own pain completelyworth it.

After we'd changed and stuffed the exoskeletons into a pair of large duffel bags, we headed a few blocks west to where a windowless black van was waiting for us. I had to resist the urge to laugh, since of _course_ Coil had a windowless black van. Harrison gave me an odd look, and I realized I was smirking slightly to myself. Biting my lip, I schooled my features back into a more neutral expression.

The trip back to Coil's lair wasn't a long one, and I soon found myself being propelled along a metal catwalk towards my room. I stopped for a moment, reluctant to reenter the same dull, windowless cell. Harrison placed a hand on the small of my back and gave me a gentle shove. I elbowed his arm away, and sped up to keep a few feet of distance between us.

"I'll be back in a half-hour or so," he told me, as I entered the room and he shut the door behind me.

I bit my lip again, worrying it between my teeth as I looked dejectedly at the empty corner that had been home to heaps of electronics when I'd left. Coil probably didn't want skeletons for his troops now, since it'd be a dead giveaway that Harrison and I were working for him. Would he even let me build anything? The lack of materials wasn't a good sign, but they'd been moved in and out before.

Since there was nothing else to do, I looked around the room for the hundredth time. My gaze settled on the wall above my desk, and I found myself impressed by how very _blank_ it was. Not even a spidery crack to stare at. I sighed, and plopped down heavily on my cot. While I was glad that none of Coil's grunts would be going out with my tech, hurting or maybe outright killing people, I was painfully aware of how dull things would be if I couldn't spend time working.

Harrison had said he'd be back in thirty minutes, but the time seemed to stretch on forever. There wasn't any clock in the room, but it felt more like hours before I finally heard footsteps heading my way. Then, I realized with a start that they didn't match Harrison's heavy booted tread.

I stood up abruptly, putting a hand on the wall to steady myself when I overbalanced slightly. Coil hadn't bothered to show up in my room in days, but it was easy to recognize the musical clanging of his soft-soled feet on the walkway that led to my room. Glancing down, I realized I'd been fiddling with the hem of my shirt, and forced myself to relax. He might be creepy as hell, but Coil had never so much as raised his voice.

Still, I jumped a little when the door swung open, admitting the skeletal figure of Coil. He turned his head towards me, and fixed me with an eerie stare through his eyeless mask. Even though I couldn't see his face, I was certain that I blinked first.

"Sweet," he greeted me casually, stepping into the room and cocking his head slightly to the side. The snake on his costume contrasted against the shadows, and I found myself torn between staring at it, and at where his face ought to be. Unable to think of a biting comment in time, I said nothing.

"Harrison tells me you had an exciting day," he continued, and something in his tone made me wince. Nervously, I shifted nervously from foot to foot, wishing he'd just get to the point already. Then, he took a step forward, so that his shadowy silhouette loomed above me. "It would seem you met some interesting people," he said, his tone perfectly even. I clenched my jaw, and glanced at my cot, unable to look at his smooth, black head, to stare into the blank nothingness that bordered the vague suggestion of a nose.

"People like Tattletale?" he prodded, and my head whipped around.

"What?" I blurted out, but even as I feigned ignorance I knew it was pointless. He _knew,_ and there wasn't anything I could say to change that. I stood stock still, staring at my feet and wishing I could be _anywhere_ else. I'd take Lung any day, at least he would rage and scream, not just _stand there,_ and I felt myself starting to hyperventilate.

"Calm down," Coil said, still in that dangerously quiet tone. "I am... disappointed." There was an air of condescension in his voice now, as if he were scolding me for forgetting to wash the dishes. I gritted my teeth, and welcomed the surge of indignation and anger that washed over me, letting it steady me where I stood.

"What did you expect?" I couldn't help but mumble a bit as I said it, but I put as much defiance into it as I could. He only stepped closer to me, and I found myself forced to look up at him.

"I think," he said coldly, "that I should limit your activities this next week." Without another word, he turned and headed for the door.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?!" I shouted at his back, before the door shut with a stern click. With a frustrated yell, I grabbed the pillow from my cot and launched it at the door. If Coil had heard me, he didn't deign to respond.

I lay on my stomach on the bed, and soon found myself relaxing almost involuntarily. Soon I found myself drifting peacefully, enjoying the quiet of the room.

A harsh buzz jerked me awake, and I groaned and groped for the pillow to press it over my ears. Glaring at the offending object where it lay halfway across the room, I settled into a sitting position, cross-legged on the cot. It was going to be a _long_ day.


	11. Interlude: The Absence of Pure Loathing

Ben Harrison had a complicated relationship with his job. It made him feel powerful and slimy, let him enjoy the satisfaction of fitting in the last puzzle piece and wallow in the sickly knowledge that he was, in the end, the bad guy. It was by turns exhilarating, exhausting, intellectually stimulating and stressful, sometimes frustrating and almost always challenging.

But sometimes, it was just _fun_. He smirked to himself as he knocked on the door to Coil's office in a familiar pattern, the old shave-and-a-haircut, and took special care to tap the final beat just a _little_ too late. Coil snapped at him to come in, and he opened the door to reveal a dark figure hunched in front of an expensive desktop computer, shoulders tense and one finger tapping the proper rhythm on his leg. The obvious irritation in his posture just about made Harrison's day. It was an act of pure spite, there was no doubt about that, but when just three hours ago he was being chased all over the city by _Lung,_ he thought he'd more than earned a little petty revenge.

Leaning back in his chair in an attempt to hide his annoyance, Coil began speaking without any sort of greeting. "I have received your report," he said, his eerie mask pointed in Harrison's general direction. It hid both his eyes the muscles around his mouth, where most of the microexpressions Harrison would normally look to for emotional cues, which made talking to him an unnerving experience. Yet as much as he disliked it, he couldn't help but admire how well Coil used his costume as a tool for intimidation. The alien appearance of the shapeless fabric over his mouth and nose blocked all attempts to read his mood, making him seem even more menacing than he actually was. The effect was heightened, too, by his nearly skeletal build, resulting in an image that wouldn't look out of place in a horror movie.

Coil tilted his head slightly, and shadows flowed across his featureless mask like ripples in a pond. It took a moment for Harrison to realize he'd been expected to respond, and another millisecond for him to decide on a respectful nod.

"However," Coil said, letting a little more tension leak into his voice, "I have also been made aware of something else." He leaned forward with his head cocked to the side, and the sudden shift in his posture screamed danger. Harrison wracked his brain for anything he might have done wrong, but came up completely blank. Honestly, the mere fact that both he and the tinker were still alive was nothing short of a miracle.

"What is it?" he asked, hoping the simple response would illustrate his own lack of complicity in whatever it was.

"Your charge talked."

The statement was delivered so blandly that it took a moment for his mind to process its meaning. Harrison felt his eyes widen in shock, but caught himself just as he was about to curse, biting down on the impulse even as he thought furiously.

"She did?" He kept his tone carefully neutral, and managed to keep his breath from hitching too obviously. This was, if he'd understood correctly, the worst possible case scenario––short of one of them dying in the fight, of course.

"Yes," Coil confirmed, "With one of the Undersiders." There was a sense of tension in his words that seemed to stretch them like taught bowstrings, until they were each a hundred times their usual length. Harrison was almost positive that this was deliberate, though it didn't make it any less of a bad sign. Coil was hard to read at the best of times, but one of his most irritating traits was that he looked almost exactly the same while furious as when he was neutral, unless he wanted you to notice his anger.

"Weren't your operatives watching her?" He said, hoping to shift a little of the blame away from himself.

Coil leaned forward in his chair, turning his head to peer intently at Harrison. "You are aware of Tattletale's abilities, I presume?" His tone was lighter now, seeking to inform rather than subdue.

Harrison nodded, cottoning on almost instantly. If Tattletale was as adept at reading tells as she seemed to think she was, carrying out a secret conversation with her might just be feasible. It would be mostly one-way of course, but as a plea for help... his charge was resourceful, he'd have to give her that. Resourceful and frustrating.

"Then the problem is contained?" he prompted, his flippant tone meant to minimize the issue as much as possible.

Coil was having none of it. "That isn't really the point here," he said, the edge creeping back into his voice. Nervously, Harrison shifted his posture into something more submissive, hoping to appeal to the sadistic side of his employer. If he appeared cowed, there would be less need to cut him down. Not too much, of course—if he were seen as weak, it would take all the satisfaction out of the subconscious 'win' and make him appear less useful as well.

"You assured me she wouldn't try anything," accused his employer. _Because human beings_ _ **never**_ _do anything unpredictable._

"I told you I thought it _unlikely._ This isn't an exact science, not by any stretch, and she _is_ a low flight risk. Her conversation seems to be an opportunistic decision." Harrison got to the point cleanly and efficiently, deciding to put his trust in logic for the moment. The man didn't seem like the type to attack him in a fit of rage, so he would probably be fine. Perhaps he'd lose his bonus, but at this point he only wanted it finished as quickly as possible, extra pay be damned. His job description did not and never had included fighting draconic gang bosses in his off hours.

Coil paused a moment to consider his defense. "Very well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You recommended several days ago that we give her a more illegal duty, correct?"

"Yes." He thought it would be a good idea to challenge the girl's black-and-white view of heroes, as well as potentially pitting her against a few of the Wards in a small battle—something low-risk and easy to retreat from. It would erode her trust in the authorities if she were to fight them, and he knew she would be less likely to go to them for help if she had an undeniable tie to Coil, or any criminal organization. She had zero reason to trust that the people in charge would like reasonable human beings, after all, and would probably expect them to blame her for anything she'd done.

He turned his attention back to his employer as he shuffled through a desk drawer. "I have something in mind," Coil said. With one index finger, he slid a large stack of papers across his desk towards Harrison, held together by a single gleaming paperclip.

"What is this?" he asked, staring down at what looked to be a map of some kind.

"The floor plan of Arcadia High School."

Harrison blinked. "What?" The word more or less slipped out, though he did manage to keep his face almost expressionless. He had a very bad feeling about where this might be going.

"You'll need to study this, for the job." Thinking some very bad words to himself, he poured over the maps while he planned his next move.

"This isn't what I had in mind," he said finally, still playing mental catch-up. "It'll alienate her, or just get us caught."

"Then I suggest you work hard to ensure this goes smoothly. You are to embarrass the Protectorate, then run if you have to."

"I can't sign off on this, it's too risky."

Coil nodded in affirmation, startling Harrison into silence. He really hadn't expected that to work...

"Rest assured, a prison break will be arranged should the mission go awry."

...and it seemed he'd been right. What exactly had given Coil the impression that he was anything remotely resembling a trained field agent?

"It's still—" he tried, but was interrupted almost instantly.

"Whether or not the authorities decide to send you both to the birdcage, they need to give you a trial first. Generally, parahuman criminals are moved around quite a bit in prison transport vehicles before their actual court dates, and there are quite a few groups that specialize in dealing with those types of security."

Harrison stopped and considered this, then nodded slowly. "I understand, but I still wouldn't recommend it."

"That isn't your call."

Frowning, Harrison decided to drop the issue and look over the plans before him. The offer to break him out was almost certainly genuine, since there was no reason to lie to him. He couldn't go against Coil, even if it meant being caged, and the man knew it. Besides, it was likely that they would end up fleeing the scene as soon as the New Wave children caught wind of the plan. He'd figure out a way to outrun three powerful fliers later. "I'll have to be careful how I pitch this," he said, somewhat absently.

"That _is_ what I pay you for."

"If that's all?" he asked, glancing pointedly at the door.

"Yes. Leave her alone for a few hours, about five should be sufficient." Harrison grimaced at that, but nodded his acceptance before shouldering his way through the door. Using isolation as negative reinforcement could be very effective, but it depended a lot on the person. The girl didn't seem to have any friends at all before her abduction, and only one close relative. She might simply retreat into herself and make it more difficult to influence her, instead of latching on to human contact. He sighed, abandoning the notion as fruitless. It wasn't as if he could do anything about it.

He spent the next few hours memorizing the floor plan to the best of his ability. How Coil had gotten hold of such a thing, he had no idea, but it was a convenient asset. Stopping only to grab a hit of caffeine, he made his way to the catwalk that led to his charge's room. Leaning against the wall a good fifty feet away, he struggled to pass the time.

Much later, Harrison checked his watch for the fourth time in as many minutes, frowning distractedly at the glass surface as he watched the second hand inch its way around. Closing his eyes to distract himself, he straightened up and shrugged his shoulders in a vain attempt to alleviate the tension there. He had a habit of sleeping in awkward positions, and the rock-hard mattress he'd spent the night in hadn't helped at all. Taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee in his other hand, he sighed in helpless annoyance.

Finally giving in to the temptation, he took another peek at his wrist. Nine forty-two in the morning, just barely inside the time window his employer had given him. Feet pounding on the metal beneath him, he made his way to the heavy metal door of his charge. Coil had told him to wait, and he understood _why_ he had to wait, but he had to work a little to banish the irritation on his face. His patience was resilient, but five hours was more than enough to wear it down. In retrospect, it might've been wise to catch a nap in the meantime, but he'd wanted to have at least some vague outline of a plan before he tried to sell the idea. Forcing himself to ignore the fuzzy thoughts brought on by lack of sleep, he walked on.

Harrison had made sure to wait at nearly the other end of the complex, and as he opened the door he could tell by her complete lack of surprise that he'd been correct—she could tell when he was coming. Probably by the noise on the catwalk, though he wasn't sure how she knew _who_ it was. Regular mercenaries had been delivering her meals, different ones each day. It would keep her off-balance, and make sure none of them got too fond of her. Not that they _would,_ Coil was rather proud of his own ability to hire soulless bastards almost on par with himself, but it never hurt to be cautious.

Stepping through the doorway, he double-checked his expression, relaxing it into something tranquil, almost placid. A small, fake smile tugged at his lips, and he looked down at the sole occupant of the room. She was ignoring the bed, choosing instead to sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning her back against the mattress with her head tilted toward the ceiling. The oddity worried him a little, since tinkers were rather notorious for their compulsive need to build things, and there was always the possibility she'd crack under the pressure. Still, when she looked toward him her eyes were clear, and her scowl was as pronounced as ever.

Satisfied with her obvious lucidity, he considered how to open the conversation. He'd been less than consistent this past week, still settling into the persona he'd crafted for the job, but by now he had a better grasp on how her mind worked. Parahumans were often easy to work with, to the point where they practically had buttons. It was just a matter of finding them.

"Sweet," he said, by way of greeting. He'd suggested the renaming almost as soon as he glanced at her background. She had reasons aplenty to hate her old life, and might be inclined to move towards the idea of a fresh start, complete with a new identity. Although, he had _not_ expected Coil to put forth something so... possessive? No, _fucking creepy_ was the proper term. Harrison was _not_ pleased, particularly since it made the girl even more wary of him than she might otherwise have been.

There was also, though he preferred not to think about it, the little girl he'd seen being shepherded down one of the catwalks, obviously not in her right mind. He was already bending his own personal rule by working with someone under eighteen, he didn't need something even worse going on in the background. Not only would the authorities work extra hard to bring him down, but someone unethical enough to turn a kid too young to vote into a weapon had a moral compass that pointed directly to Satan's pitchfork. He didn't want to find out what might happen if his employer decided he had outgrown his usefulness.

Very carefully _not_ grimacing, he turned his attention back to his charge. Coil was a master of the carrot and stick method, and that was that. He'd do the job, then end all contact with this man's organization.

The girl was still looking up at him, chewing absently on her lower lip. He noticed that it'd split, somewhere in the eight hours he'd been gone, and decided it was time to play nice.

"I have a gift for you," he said, smiling. She _hated_ condescension just as much as most teenagers—hell, most _anyone_ did, but with her classmates having done most of the work chipping away at her self-confidence it was the easiest way to encourage her to defer to him. He could see her bristling slightly, but less than she might have a week ago. Keeping the benevolent grin steady, he pulled the small item from behind his back. It was a basic composition notebook, graph ruled, and a cheap mechanical pencil. Her excitement was easy to read, and despite trying to glare at him she snatched it up eagerly.

Satisfied, Harrison sat casually on her bed, watching as she fiddled with the ends of her sleeves, which had started to fray in places. She must've been picking at them during the wait, and if that were true then she'd be desperate for just about anything interesting to happen. Boredom was a very effective tool, particularly for tinkers—it would help him break the news.

Still, he needed to phrase this very carefully. She'd already started ignoring him in favor of the book, staring at the cover and twitching the hand that held the pencil. Not starting her work while he was still in the room was a good sign, though it meant he needed to catch her attention without scolding.

"There is one more thing," he said, deciding on the most neutral approach he could think of. Startled, she looked around, craning her neck at an odd angle to look at his face as he spoke. It was an odd juxtaposition of social instinct, like making eye contact while he spoke, and evidence of her withdrawal from human contact—instead of turning all the way around, she chose the easiest and most convenient path, obviously intending to look away as soon as she could. He should emphasize the idea of going outside and encountering human beings again, she was obviously starting to lose touch with other people.

"We're having another outing next week." He made sure to look her in the eyes as he spoke, to try and gauge her reaction. She chewed on her lip, obviously torn.

"What kind of outing?" Something in the back of his mind smiled, though he kept his face neutral. She'd accepted the term 'outing,' which wasn't something she'd have done a week ago. The word was too childish, and when combined with his affected air of superiority it would have rankled too much.

 _Carefully,_ he thought, playing with the phrasing of his next piece of news. "It's to call out the heroes. It turns out the PRT has been taking all the credit for Lung's capture, _despite_ the inflammatory actions of villains and rogues." The 'rogue' addendum was for her benefit. She wasn't nearly ready to accept being called a villain, and if _he_ made sure to note her heroic tendencies while the Protectorate strawmanned her as being just another thug, he'd gain a lot of trust for literally no effort.

"Call them out how?"

 _Right to the point, then._ "Arcadia. There are a number of Wards attending there, they ought to be able to pass on the message."

The girl gaped at him, notebook temporarily forgotten where it rested in her slack grip. Harrison grinned amiably, trying to hide his own... doubts. If he were being honest with himself, the plan Coil had outlined was certifiably insane... from _their_ perspective. To their employer, there were two likely outcomes: either they'd somehow manage to pull it off, embarrassing the heroes and striking a blow to their more junior members. Or, they would be captured, and broken loose en route to whatever courtroom had deigned to receive them.

The plan wasn't so bad that there was no chance for escape. In fact, as long as they were sure to head for the hills a few minutes before the first sign of trouble, there was a fair chance of them pulling it off. But, with the Wards and younger half of New Wave all clustered in the same location, the first sign of trouble was likely to be around when they walked through the door. He wasn't about to defy Coil, particularly since he was almost certain the offer to break them out was genuine, but the idea was still daunting.

Suppressing a frown, Harrison returned his full attention to his charge, who was still staring in open-mouthed shock.

"But _why?"_ she demanded, the edges of panic creeping into her voice as she spoke.

"We need to make the point very clearly, and by posing a threat we can be sure the Protectorate listens. Don't worry about being arrested, either. As long as neither of us says anything, Coil's people will get us out within a day or two." _And if she_ _ **does**_ _start talking,_ he thought, _One of our guards might kill us in our sleep._ He needed to come up with a way to prevent that sometime over the next few days.

The girl was still trying to wrap her head around the insane scheme. "That won't be much help if we get sent to the Birdcage!" she protested, tapping an agitated rhythm on the new notebook.

He smiled, forcing his expression to radiate benevolence. She hated it when he did that, but he needed to undercut her confidence if he was going to have a hope of selling this plan. "They can't do that without a trial. And in the meantime, we'll be in much flimsier cells."

A smidgeon of disbelief cleared from her expression, but there was quite a lot of lingering doubt, fear, and guilt. This, he knew, was an opportunity.

"We aren't going to hurt anyone," he assured her. "This is functionally almost identical to the raids on the ABB—it's more to make a point, that the group in question is doing something the rest of us find unacceptable. Not the best method for conflict resolution, but it tends to get attention rather quickly."

He waited, making a conscious effort to keep his breathing steady. If she accepted the idea...

"This is different," she insisted. _Damn._ He wasn't exactly surprised, she'd grown up on stories about the great heroes of the Protectorate, but it would've marked an incredible amount of progress if she'd let him compare them to the ABB. Pushing the wishful thinking aside, he turned to the problem at hand. Maybe, if he poked around a bit...

"There will be no need for violence as long as none of them start anything," he said, testing the waters.

"They're _kids!"_

He needed to be careful. Arguing with her openly would restore too much confidence, he had to establish his role as the authority figure. While, of course, simultaneously convincing her of the point he wanted to make—all without showing his own dislike of the idea.

"They know how to handle themselves, I'm sure," he said, hoping she might reveal a little more of her own thoughts when she responded.

"I just don't understand _why._ It seems so pointless!" He rummaged through his head for possible rebuttals, feeling the familiar rush of a true _challenge._ Now he had to convince a willful teenager to mindlessly obey authority and betray her childhood heroes, while selling her a plan he himself didn't much care for, _and_ she was clever enough to catch on if he heaped the bullshit too high. The only things he could come up with were all subpar at best.

 _I'm only following orders._ She wouldn't touch that pile of tripe with a ten foot pole, and he knew it.

 _The heroes wronged us._ Too antagonistic towards her hero-worship by _far._

 _We can't let the Protectorate sit on their laurels, especially when they didn't earn them in the first place._ No, too argumentative. He needed to be short and sweet, and discourage further protest.

Finally, he thought he hit upon something that might work. "The Protectorate is getting complacent, and the best way to get their attention is to do something they can't ignore."

She opened her mouth to argue some more, but he cut her off. He'd placated her enough, and more debate would only make things worse. "This discussion is closed, as I have other business to attend to." Harrison scanned her face, and was satisfied to see anger in her eyes. Instead of calling bullshit on his 'other business,' she was focused on her annoyance, which would let him make a clean getaway. Getting to his feet, making sure not to appear hurried, he walked to the door.

"Coil says he'll look over some of your designs, and if he approves you may get to build a few of them." It was a backhanded gift, one which both reinforced Coil's authority while simultaneously providing something for her to work for in her off-hours. He'd saved it for last, wanting to end the meeting on a high note, and earn a little more trust.

Shutting the door behind him, he walked slowly and deliberately away from her room, quickening his pace only when he was lost in the usual bustle. Reflecting on his performance, he decided that the encounter had gone... well, not _poorly,_ but not particularly well either. Harrison cursed his employer once again for giving him such a tense conversation when his charge wasn't yet acclimated to her new environment. Even when she was by all appearances half-asleep, anyone with enough of a brain to build power armor could see the many holes in Coil's master plan.

He'd been reassured they would be broken out in the event of an arrest, but that would mean revealing that Cobalt and Sentry had some kind of backer, maybe even lead the heroes to Coil himself. If they succeeded, the heroes were caught off-guard and embarrassed, possibly even unmasked. This too posed a problem, since it was a clear violation of the general code of conduct amongst parahumans, and both heroes and villains alike would be unwilling to associate with them, or possibly try to actively hunt them down. All with the basic goal of giving the Protectorate a scolding _._

The seemingly contradictory information made him suspect that Coil might not be quite as friendly towards the pair of them as he seemed. For a moment, he considered the possibility that this was all some last-minute ploy—Coil would use them one final time, then either kill them in their cells or execute them when they returned to the base. But no, if he _were_ thinking along those lines it would be better to give them a job they had a better chance of pulling off successfully, like a robbery of some kind. Besides, the only problem so far had been the girl's attempt at spilling the beans, which had been both easily contained and easily preventable. If Coil were worried about _that,_ he shouldn't be sending her out at all.

Really, the whole thing was just _off._ There had to be easier ways to show up the Protectorate than attacking a school, especially if it were already supposedly full of heroes. The pair of them had only the bare bones of a chance at making it out without being caught, and the only reason Harrison was willing to risk it was because he knew full well there'd be hell to pay if he disobeyed. It was reasonable to assume that their go-to strategy would be to run away at the first sign of danger, but if it turned into a hostage situation... everything would go to shit, _fast._ Even if Coil _did_ want to kill them, which seemed like a crackpot theory at best, he should still be at least somewhat concerned that the heroes might figure out the ploy, and all that heat would come down on him instead. There was another advantage, somewhere in this hot mess of a plan, that made it worthwhile.

Sighing in resignation, Harrison made his way to the tiny kitchen and grabbed some more coffee. There was no real point trying to pick out Coil's incentives, since he didn't know all the facts anyway. Seating himself on a bench in an adjacent recreation area, he sipped casually on his drink, still distracted by the seemingly insane plot.

There was, he reflected, at least one silver lining in all of this. The girl didn't want to fight heroes, but if she were faced with the actual reality of needing to defend herself, it may spark a change in her attitude towards him, and villainy in general. And, while there was technically a risk that she might defect and try to get witness protection for her father, he highly doubted she'd ever put her faith in the people in charge keeping her safe. He'd read her background, after all.

However, after the events of this evening, he was fairly sure she trusted him at least a little. Saving her life, while stressful in the moment, had been a great way to get off of her bad side. Not that he was anything close to a friend yet, far from it, but he knew she wouldn't be able to hate him properly anymore.

Then again, the absence of pure loathing does not a strong bond make. It wasn't nearly enough for him to be confident of a successful mission. Giving her the notebook and the opportunity to run ideas past Coil would certainly help, as it would be registered subconsciously as a gesture of good faith. One might even call it a gift, and one fundamental need of human beings was to always reciprocate acts of generosity, in order to avoid feeling indebted. Combined with the close call with Oni Lee's knife, this would maybe be enough to send her out against a team of heroes she knew for a fact were corrupt. But against the Protectorate ENE, who she'd been raised just about from birth to idolize as heroes? It wasn't _enough._

The problem wasn't that he was unsure of how easily she might defect. Being totally certain in his line of work generally meant you didn't know what the hell you were doing, and he had years of experience to back him up. The cold, hard, indisputable truth that made the whole plan so incredibly difficult to work with was that she wasn't _ready._ She didn't like him, and she'd only barely begun to tolerate him enough to reciprocate with some trust.

His only consolation was the fact that, even if all else failed, Coil had a trump card. She wouldn't let her father be hurt, and there was no possible way of protecting him if she went off-mission, which made her vastly more likely to cooperate. Still, it made him uncomfortable to rely on it—threatening someone was easy, but as soon as they thought they might be able to overpower you, any leverage you'd ever had was gone.

All things considered, he'd place the odds of her going through with the mission at about eighty percent, if he were feeling particularly optimistic. It didn't _sound_ bad, but add to that the fact that even if she did cooperate, their chances of success were still dismal? He thought he might have better luck playing roulette in a crooked casino.

If he could, he would just tell Coil as much, and be done with it. This wasn't like other jobs, though—he might have some authority, at least from the girl's perspective, but in the end he was under orders. Technically, the one paying the money generally dictated the actions of the employee, but most people were more than willing to let the expert take the reins. Coil, on the other hand, was either delusionally overestimating the feasibility of his plan, or more likely he just didn't care what happened to them. Harrison couldn't ask him to change anything, not after his perceived failure at the ABB standoff. His only shot was to try and pull off the attack.

 _So,_ he thought, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, _I suppose we gamble._


	12. Flesh-Toned Stockings

I can still remember my very first impression of Winslow. It wasn't anything like the air of misery I had felt from actually attending, since this was before Emma had started tormenting me and before I even _met_ most of the people that would later make my life hell. It wasn't all the gang graffiti or obvious skinheads either, as I hadn't seen the inside of the place yet. All I noticed in those first few seconds outside the school was that it looked like a prison. The building itself was squat and rectangular, like a brick made of bland gray cinderblocks. It was surrounded completely by chain link fences topped by metal spikes, the kind that bend at a forty-five degree angle to make it impossible for people to climb over. Sort of like barbed wire, but slightly less obvious. Needless to say, it wasn't a goodfirst thought to have about a place you'd be spending four years of your life.

My first impression of _Arcadia,_ on the other hand, was that it looked like a fortress. There was definitely a difference, made clear by the graceful wings that branched off the main building, the verdant courtyards and open-air picnic benches for students to eat outside in nice weather. It had the kind of aesthetic I'd expect from a medieval manor, not a correctional facility full of teenagers.

Not that there wasn't obvious security. Arcadia had fences too, though they were mostly obscured by a set of carefully manicured hedges, with only the slanted shelf on top being visible. There were uniformed security guards prowling around campus, and cameras speckled around the edge of the roof that would occasionally turn to follow someone walking past. It made me more than a little nervous, given that Harrison and I were about to storm the place.

We were both crouched not even fifty yards from the side of the building, in the back of a generic-looking white van barren of any logos or other identifying marks. It was probably stolen, since it wouldn't be hard to trace our assault back to the vehicle and check the plates, and Coil wouldn't want it connected to him. Not that I really cared, as long as no one noticed the creepy van parked outside a school until _after_ the mission.

We had arrived almost painfully early, and after nearly twenty minutes of just sitting there with him checking his watch every so often, I was getting antsy. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't been outside _doing_ something in over a week, but I felt like I was just overflowing with nervous energy. It was the kind of feeling that vibrates up and down your leg during a test, and it made me start tapping my fingers on my thighs and fidgeting in place. Harrison sent a quelling glance my way, but that only served to make me more twitchy.

"Soon," he said, peering out at the school. "One of the guards is about to take his lunch break."

The guard in question, a tiny blue speck against the brick-red background of the back of the school, soon ducked through one of the doors. I went for the van's exit, but was held back.

"Twenty more seconds, until he's well inside."

Biting my lip, I settled down a little and managed to sit still until Harrison looked over at me and nodded.

"Good luck," he said.

I ignored him, and focused instead on his left hand, which had already turned the handle of one of the back doors. He hesitated a moment, glancing at me to make sure I was ready. The first leg of our journey would be a dead sprint, and the more distance we could cover before we had to tangle with the school security, the better. That meant running flat out from the second we left the van, as we were _not_ unobtrusive in our shining metallic exoskeletons and dark-tinted visors, and would probably be spotted almost immediately.

Harrison began counting down from three, and I felt every muscle in my legs, real and synthetic alike, tense in anticipation. I wasn't looking forward to fighting heroes and law enforcement, but the fifty yard dash to the front of the school and an armor-enhanced vault over a ten foot tall fence? _Hell yes._

Yeah, I'd probably been cooped up for too long.

As soon as Harrison hit one, the slowness of the waiting _shattered._ There was a metallic clang as the door was flung open, making a sizeable dent where it had rebounded backwards into the van. Then our feet hit the ground and we were running, pushing our suits to the limit as we cut through the air like whips. Asphalt rushed by in a blurry black tide, and I kept my eyes fixed on the looming fence, watching the diamond patterns between the chain links grow larger and larger. After what felt simultaneously like eons and instants, but was probably somewhere between five and ten seconds, we hit our first obstacle.

Rather than stopping to assess the situation, I just jumped. With the added strength of my exoskeleton to offset its weight and the speed at which I'd been running, my feet were nearly four feet off the ground by the time I hit the zenith of my leap. With my height, I was easily able to reach up and snag the top of the fence, dangling freely in the air almost two feet from any footholds due to how the top of the fence folded to prevent people from doing exactly this. Pulling myself up with ease, I crouched on top like some kind of obscene gargoyle and took in my surroundings.

"FREEZE!"

I almost fell off the fence at the noise. A pair of armed security guards were sprinting my way, each with their guns drawn and pointed at the ground as they ran. One of them had shouted, and was gesturing wildly with his free hand.

Ignoring him, I leapt off the fence and hit the ground _hard,_ relishing the feeling of my synthetic muscles coiling up like a spring to absorb all the kinetic energy of my fall. A shot rang out, painfully loud even from several yards away, and a bullet blasted the ground beside me into a plume of dust.

Just as they were lining up to fire again, Harrison landed heavily beside me. I could actually feel the impact shake the ground, but kept my balance as I charged at the guards. There were three of them now, another having run towards us at the sound of gunfire. I headed for the closest one, twisting my body sideways as I ran to present a smaller profile. It didn't quite work, as one shot glanced off the armor of my shoulder, but I wasn't even scratched.

By the time another bullet hit, this time bouncing off my chestplate, I was only feet away from my chosen target. I slammed into him shoulder-first, and he crumpled to the ground clutching at his side. Wrestling the gun away from him, I fumbled with it for a moment in an attempt to remove the ammunition. After a few seconds, I gave up and just squeezed the end of the barrel as hard as I could, managing to visibly deform it.

More guns were still going off, and I winced as one clanged off my forehead. That had come worryingly close to my visor, and though it was tinkertech—hopefully bought, not coerced—I hadn't had the chance to test it for myself, making me a little nervous about trusting it.

Before either of them could shoot again, Harrison backhanded one of the remaining guards in the jaw. He dropped bonelessly to the ground, stunned or unconscious. The last man standing backed away a bit, still holding his weapon steady and aiming at Harrison's head. For a moment, all I could focus on was his teeth, bared in defiance and flashing bright white against his olive skin.

 _Sorry,_ I thought, and charged him. He tried backing away, firing all the while and shouting at the top of his lungs, but I was faster. I threw a punch at him, but missed as he ducked low and swept a leg towards my feet to knock me over. All he managed to do was kick ineffectually at my right shin, and by then I could reach out and catch him by the shoulder. One slap to the head and he was down, groaning and groping for his gun, which I scooped up and lobbed back over the fence, after doing my best to break it.

"You should've kept that," Harrison said, the third guard's weapon clasped in his right hand. I glared at him, furious that he'd pick up a gun during what was supposed to be a purely non-lethal operation, but he ignored me and began running for the door. More security might be headed this way, so I turned and followed instead of wasting any more time trying to argue.

He backed a ways away from the building, then sprinted forward with his shoulder aimed for the door. Reinforced though it probably was, it crumpled inwards at the momentum of Harrison's charge, revealing the hallway behind it. We stepped through, glancing to either side in search of any opposition.

The hallway was empty. It was almost eerie how still and silent it was after the madness and gunfire of our entrance. I couldn't help but notice how clean it was, too. There wasn't a spot of graffiti anywhere, and the rows of red-painted lockers were all gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.

Harrison tugged on my arm, and I followed after him as he began walking briskly down the hall. The metal in our boots made small, restrained clacking sounds as they hit the linoleum floor, and I could see twin tracks of tiny dents trailing us from the ruined doorway where we'd broken in. It wasn't much of a path of destruction, but I still winced at the sight.

We passed by what looked like the school's gym, also echoingly empty, and then made a right before striding down another hallway. As far as I understood it, if Arcadia was built like a giant letter H, we had entered through one of the wings. The turn we'd just made was sending us down the connecting piece in the middle, and the cafeteria was on the other side of the building. That was where we were going, since from what Harrison had told me the room was reinforced to the point of being barely a step below a bomb shelter, meaning that everyone was supposed to gather there in case of an emergency.

Well, everyone who was close enough, anyway. As we passed a few "empty" classrooms, I could see occasional signs of inhabitation—hastily drawn blinds, shadows moving under the door, things like that— probably because they'd decided it would be better to stay hidden than risk being out in the middle of the hallway. I didn't say anything, since the whole point of the mission was to confront the heroes, not random students minding their own business. With any luck, the Wards and New Wave would come to meet us before we made it to the cafeteria, then Harrison would say his piece to embarrass the Protectorate and we'd run like hell.

Then, about halfway down the hall, we got our wish. I had maybe a second to register the blur that hurtled around the corner before there was a fist flying towards my face. Barely managing to dodge the attack, I turned to see the blur slow down and resolve itself into the figure of a girl.

She might have been pretty—her shining blue eyes were framed by long, platinum-blonde hair that looked like it belonged in a magazine, and her high cheekbones and delicate nose gave her face an almost regal look—all of which meant that she _might_ have been pretty if she weren't wearing one of the most murderous expressions I'd ever seen. The second her furious gaze turned on me, my mind shut down.

I could remember being afraid before. When Coil had found out about my secret conversation with Tattletale, I'd been more scared than I liked to admit even to myself. But that fear was different, more like a creeping, freezing kind of terror. It made me feel like a rabbit being hunted, with my first instinct being to stay stock-still and hope the hawk wouldn't notice me, making it hard to move or even breathe.

Now, seeing someone who had enough brute strength to punch through a brick wall, and plenty of reasons to want to hurt me? The fear, the _panic_ was more like a flood, pouring into my mind and scattering any coherent thought, leaving only instinct and a surge of adrenaline and the need to _move._

She charged Harrison first, jabbing at his chest with her right fist. He threw himself sideways, avoiding the blow and retaliating with a slap to her head. It connected, but she ignored it and elbowed him in the stomach, throwing him backwards. His head collided with one of the lockers, and its door crumpled like tissue paper. Slumping to the ground, he lay there unmoving. Obviously considering him sufficiently dealt with, she turned to face me instead.

My eyes were drawn almost irresistibly to the smooth, unbroken flesh on her knuckles as she aimed a punch right for my head. It seemed almost to glow as it rushed towards me, faster than should have been possible. Her whole body was behind it, her legs lifting off the ground as she flew forward to pack as much force into the one blow as she could. I threw myself backwards, too spooked to try and dodge gracefully, then rolled into a half-crouch as she kept on going. One foot kicked out at my stomach as I was trying to get my legs under me. There was nowhere I could go to avoid it, so I was forced to raise a hand in front of me and take the blow, while bracing myself as best as I could.

There was a millisecond of hope, that maybe she'd just grab me and haul me off to the Protectorate instead of hitting me. Then her foot slammed into my arm, and I gave first. I went tumbling end over end, coming to rest in a heap with my whole body curled around my right arm. It only tingled,meaning it wasn't hurt badly enough to trip the override I'd built into the pain suppressor in my skeleton, but the injury seemed to be in the wrong place. I'd tried to block with my forearm, but it looked like she'd hit me before I had my arm all the way up and caught my wrist instead. Grimacing, I inspected the damage.

The armor around it had buckled, far more than it might have if it weren't in such a vulnerable area. Places like my hands and feet, where I expected to take most impacts, and my chest and head, which covered vital areas, usually had around a half-inch of padding or empty space between the armor and my skin. This let the metal flex a little to absorb more kinetic energy, without injuring me. The side of my arm, where I'd _intended_ to take the blow, was one of those high-priority spots as well.

My wrist, on the other hand, was not. Joints needed to be narrower, if they were going to be as flexible as I wanted them to be, and the material used to make them wasn't nearly as tough as the immobile bones of my armor. That lack of strength was showing now, as the metal had been badly dented and was digging into my skin.

That seemed to be the only problem, though. My armor had absorbed the force of my unintentional somersault without any trouble, and my helmet had kept my head safe as well. I raised my head—

—and collided with the floor, borne through the air by another flight-assisted kick. With a surprised grunt, I tried to regain my footing, only to be picked up and slammed against the wall

Two deadly blue eyes stared into me, and I felt the buzzing of panic at the edges of my mind sharpen, then burst out of control until I could barely think. Dimly, I noticed two more figures sprinting down the hallway. She glanced their way, too, but only tightened her grip on my shoulders. I could hear the joints groan in protest, and headbutted her as hard as I could. My visor bounced off that delicate nose of hers, accomplishing nothing. I bucked in place, slamming my knees into her stomach, but she didn't flinch. Growing desperate, I clawed at her wrists and kicked at everything I could reach, until she frowned in mild annoyance and rammed me into the wall again.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. I tried to answer, but my jaw was shaking too badly and my tongue felt too big for my mouth and there was nothing to _say._

"Answer the fucking question!"

"I—" I managed, then stopped. I couldn't tell the truth, but I didn't know what lie to tell and I just couldn't _think_ to come up with a plausible lie.

"Vicky, your aura," said one of the newcomers, sounding out of breath but mercifully calm.

"I don't care," the girl snarled, shaking me a little as if for emphasis. "If they wanna attack a _school,_ then I'm not holding back." Her voice was thick with badly suppressed rage, and I began kicking at her again in a futile attempt to free myself.

She ignored me. I made a pathetic mewling sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Remembering what the other voice had said, something about an aura, my mind spat back the contents of some online article from what felt like years ago. The girl had another power, one that let her induce admiration or fear at will. But knowing it wasn't all genuine didn't help as the anxiety and panic built up in the back of my mind. There was no way to release the feeling of tension, of _fear,_ and my heartbeat just kept pounding harder and harder. I could feel it, hell I could _hear_ it, the ringing thumping just beneath my skin that sent blood racing to my extremities in some misguided attempt to strengthen them. There wasn't any point, they were nothing more than dead weight in a fight like this.

The girl was shouting something again, but I couldn't really hear her over the thumping in my ears, almost like drumbeats. It was a call to arms, the inner rhythm and the waves and waves of adrenaline building up some store of energy from the depths of my self.

And it was _fucking useless._ All that last-ditch resolve, the second wind, the final dregs of power my body could produce, and it was completely _wasted_ on my 'real' body. My exoskeleton couldn't access it, could only use the same mechanical strength it'd had since the beginning, and it wasn't _enough_. The metal muscle and bone had never felt as alien as it did right then, so _other,_ than when compared to the heat and vitality of the blood in my veins. It wasn't that the stuff itself was so wrong, just the placement of it. I'd known for a while, at least on an intellectual level, that using my power this way was stretching my specialty to the limits. But now, I realized on an instinctual level something that should have been obvious—my gear was meant to be a _part_ of me.

It was a powerful realization, one that settled an argument I hadn't even known I'd been having with myself, with my own squeamishness finally fading in importance compared to how much I could really make with my power. For just an instant, there was something _other_ in the panicked mess of my brain, something calm and collected.

But that, too, was _useless._ I was still pinned to the wall, still breathing in tiny shallow gasps and thrashing uselessly against an invincible opponent. Then, something shook me hard enough to make my teeth rattle and the fear spiked. My heart was palpitating wildly, my fists and feet flailing around and slamming into the force gripping my shoulders. It didn't budge, only tightening its hold and shouting something I couldn't understand. What little calm I'd managed to find scattered like clouds on a windy day, leaving me struggling to pull air into my lungs as my body burned through oxygen as fast as I could take it in.

Just as I felt like I was about to explode, one of the people standing in the background said something, and finally the fear eased a little. Still panting for breath, I went limp and took a moment to collect myself. There was a ringing in my ears, fading but still enough to make it difficult to concentrate. I swept my gaze around the hallway, searching desperately for some way to break her hold on me. The two newcomers were standing behind her, a boy and a girl both in street clothes. The guy was tall, probably taller than me, with bright blue hair and contempt written all across his expression in big block letters. By comparison, the girl was tiny, almost mousy. She was standing behind him, or rather _he_ was in front of _her_ —one arm raised protectively, his whole stance screaming _guardian._

Something clicked, and suddenly I recognized him as Shielder of New Wave. It should've been obvious, particularly with the blue hair, but I was starting to realize that the fear aura was even more of an obstacle than I would've expected. It took a little more effort, but I managed to place the other girl as well. She had to be Panacea, simply by process of elimination—Laserdream had already graduated.

It was... not a _relief_ exactly, since I was still pinned to a wall by a really pissed off Glory Girl, but it was still definitely good to know that neither of the other two capes had any formidable offense. His lasers were supposed to be fairly weak, more like a regular punch than anything else, which my armor could take. The shields would be annoying and hard to deal with, depending on the exact mechanics of how they worked, but they wouldn't _hurt_ me. Well, probably. It would be just my luck if they were sharp-edged and he could use them like blades.

Glancing down at the hands still pinning me to the wall, I noted grimly that they had all the firepower they needed. I wracked my brain for options, some way to deal with someone faster, stronger, and vastly more maneuverable than me who I couldn't even hurt, but came up blank. My whole thought process still felt sort of jittery, jumping between half-baked ideas without making much progress.

Then Glory Girl was talking again, and all my focus was drawn to her. "Got any zip-ties?" she asked Shielder. It was sort of half-hearted, like she already knew he didn't but had to check. He shook his head, and she immediately started fumbling with my armor.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, kicking her again.

"Looking for an off switch."

"There isn't one!" I insisted. It was true, the command to release my armor came from my own brain, and I hadn't put an override on the outside for obvious reasons. There was a way to open it by flexing my fingers and toes in a particular pattern—claw with the left hand, cross my right pinky and ring finger, clench left foot—which would release the skeleton if something went wrong. It was still possible to do with my natural limbs even if I couldn't move the skeleton, but not the kind of thing most people could force me to do, since my armor was reading the way my muscles moved and not the end result.

Glory Girl just grunted, and kept on searching my exoskeleton. "In that case," she said, "I'm looking for something to break. Ooh!" She rapped once on the control module on my neck. "This looks important."

Panacea, who had been looking at Harrison—still prone on the ground, probably knocked out by the force of being thrown into the wall—with something sort of close to concern, turned back to the pair of us. "Vicky, maybe you should—"

And as soon as her back was facing him, Harrison moved. He kicked out with both legs, connecting with the healer right at the backs of her knees, knocking her flat on the ground before she could finish the sentence. Her head hit the ground, hard. Shielder turned, swearing at the top of his lungs and blasting him with a laser. It cast a faint blue glow on his visor as it struck his temple, but seemed otherwise ineffective.

Then Glory Girl whirled around, and for an instant my vision went totally white. I screamed, and in the back of my mind I noticed that Harrison was shouting too, babbling incoherently as he backed away. My shoulders were released, and she sped off toward him, fist raised with murderous intent. Her whole body was parallel to the ground, her flight letting her rush towards him almost as fast as a car.

But her feet stayed put as she stretched out, only for an instant before they would have followed her across the hallway. Grabbing hold, I did the only thing I could think of to keep her off-balance. My hand clutched her ankle in a grip that would've been white-knuckled if the exoskeleton had skin to turn pale. Bracing my shoulder against her shin, I dug my heels into the linoleum and heaved with my entire body until I could feel the strain in metal and flesh alike. My spine twisted, my arm extended straight out and swung her into the wall with as much force as I could muster, using her own momentum against her. I was hoping that maybe I could buy time for Harrison to get to his feet, or keep swinging her around and make her dizzy.

It was a bit more effective than that. She slammed into the wall, and the whole thing _buckled_ slightly, the lockers in that area being more or less pulverized. None of that seemed to faze her, none of that _should_ have fazed her, but she let out a shriek of pain all the same. Glancing down, I realized that I was still holding on to her ankle, which was now bent at a sickening angle. The skin had torn around the edges of my fingers, and there was blood welling up and dripping onto the floor.

 _What the hell?_ I stared blankly down at my hands, noticing somewhat absurdly that she wasn't even wearing shoes, just a pair of short flesh-toned stockings that were now spotted with red. She must've had heels on today.

Dropping her foot, I stumbled backwards and away from her, still staring at the wound I'd made. She had slumped to the ground after I'd swung her, and now her leg hit the floor too, bouncing once before settling, her foot bent just a little further than it should be where she lay. For a moment, I wondered why she wasn't getting up. I certainly would've, since there was no way a blow to her _leg_ would knock her out.

Unless, I realized, she passed out from the pain. Feeling sick, I thought about what it would actually be like to be invulnerable for years, only for it to vanish without warning, leaving me with a broken ankle. She must not have any pain tolerance whatsoever, and I'd just injured her badly enough that she'd fallen unconscious, or at least couldn't move.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, there was the thought that _heroes don't hurt people, villains do._ It was ridiculous, I knew. There were plenty of people who were undeniably heroic, like Armsmaster or the Triumverate, who dealt out a _lot_ of violence to criminals almost daily. People getting hurt was an unavoidable side-effect of conflict, and it _had_ definitely been an accident.

The back of my mind was not swayed by this logic. Because, when it came down to it, I wasn't as horrified as I should've been. Glory Girl had been a threat, she'd been attacking me, and even though I knew that was what she should be doing, that it was only right for her to try and stop us, I wasn't wishing that she hadn't been hurt. She was strong, pissed off, downright _terrifying,_ and I was just glad she wasn't getting up.


	13. The Desperate Man with the Gun

I'd always been a bit of a cape geek. Not the kind that spends hours crafting elaborate and ridiculous theories about PHO moderators, more the type to find embarrassing action figures from years ago still rotting in a dark corner of my closet. It wasn't like I'd thought I would ever get powers. I just... liked heroes.

My personal favorites at the time were, I'd freely admit, a bit boring. Alexandria, the classic flying brick, and Armsmaster, the leader of the local Protectorate, were both capes that just about anyone knew, particularly in Brockton bay, and most people could probably summon up the bare bones of their life stories.

But I had other favorites, too. New Wave had stuck out a bit to me, not least because the way its members showed their real faces helped humanize them, and Glory Girl had always seemed... _genuine,_ in a way some of the Protectorate didn't. More like she was saying what she thought, instead of regurgitating what her PR department had told her.

So, when I found myself standing over the mostly unconscious remains of New Wave's younger half, it was... surreal. It was like my mind was trying to fill in blanks that didn't exist, wondering how it was even physically _possible_ that I'd done any of this.

Maybe if I had some time to think it over, I could come up with some passable explanation, but the world just didn't have a pause button for when it decided to go completely _insane,_ even if some people might need a second to catch up. I spent a few seconds in frozen silence, trying and failing to process the sudden outburst of seemingly impossible violence, before Harrison grabbed me by the arm and yanked me down the hallway.

Shielder, who seemed to be as stunned as I was, snapped back into reality. "What the hell did you _do?"_ he shouted, barreling towards us with long, flight assisted strides. His lasers impacted harmlessly on my armor, but they _did_ push me backwards a little and he was blasting them almost twice as rapidly as before. Stumbling slightly, I ignored the onslaught and marched forward, holding on to a sense of grim determination that this would be _over_ soon, one way or another.

Then, not even ten paces down the hallway, any hope I might've had of getting past the remainder of New Wave and moving on with the rest of the mission was dashed. A field of shimmering blue energy expanded across the entire passage, blocking any progress we might have made. While his lasers were nothing more than a mild annoyance, I knew enough about him to be sure that Harrison and I wouldn't be able to get through by force.

"You'll pay for that," the young hero said, obviously trying to sound deadly calm. His voice shook a little, whether in fear or rage I honestly wasn't sure. Probably a bit of both.

"I didn't—" I began, hoping I could reason with him, or at least persuade him to get his teammates to a nurse or something instead of wasting time fighting us.

Harrison cut me off, not with words but with action. Raising one hand, still holding onto the gun he'd grabbed from one of the guards, he pointed it unceremoniously at the two heroes on the floor.

 _"NO!"_ Shielder and I screamed at almost the same time. I was already moving forward, ready to go for his gun, when a massive bubble of bright indigo light spread itself over all three teammates.

"We'll be on our way," said Harrison, in tones of _real_ deadly calm. He turned, then gestured at me with one hand as he walked away.

Shaking, partly with shock and partly with rage, I half-jogged in order to catch up with him and forced myself _not_ to scream at him.

"What the hell was _that?"_ I whispered harshly, barely an inch from his ear.

"He can only keep up one forcefield that strong at a time," he replied. The lack of concern in his voice really shouldn'thave surprised me as much as it did, since I'd been pretty thoroughly informed over the past week—hell, the past hear and a half—about just how shitty human beings could be.

"You pointed a gun at two unconscious teenagers," I hissed, fighting to keep myself from shouting.

"I had no intention of firing." He kept walking, forcing me to work to match his brisk pace.

"That's not the point," I insisted. He ignored me, and I huffed in annoyance before letting it drop, for now. I didn't _want_ to, but sometimes Harrison was the conversational equivalent of a brick wall and now just wasn't the time. I'd bring it up again later, when I could scream at him properly.

We hung a final left, skidding around the corner and approaching what looked an awful lot like a vault door. Arrayed in front of it in full costume were three Wards. The boy in the middle I easily identified as Gallant—his silver and grey body armor was pretty distinctive, and I'd done some research on local capes in the library in the months I spent building my first exoskeleton. He stood with his hands raised slightly in a gesture that seemed caught halfway between placating and threatening, with his feet spread a shoulder width apart and his chin raised. All in all, he looked like a movie hero, and I wondered privately if he'd designed his armor deliberately so that the silver highlights would catch the light when he posed like that.

On his left and a few steps in front of him stood Aegis. I was forcibly reminded of Shielder, looking at the silver emblem on his chest, and winced a little internally. Lastly, there was Clockblocker, forced to stay a few paces behind the others as he kept one hand flat against the reinforced door. If we made as if to break it down, I had no doubt we'd be dealing with an impenetrable wall within seconds. Aegis opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by a voice from behind us.

"Stop right there," commanded Armsmaster, from the other side of the junction. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his arms crossed brazenly over his chest, as if he were making a last stand against the forces of darkness in an action movie. I froze almost instantly, skidding to stop next to Harrison. The Protectorate leader lowered his halberd threateningly in our direction, looking much less friendly than the last time we'd met. Behind him, there was a man in a deep purple costume, complete with bright yellow accents at his joints. It took me a second, but I soon identified him as Velocity, also of the Protectorate.

 _What the hell are we doing?_ I wondered, backing up a step. Harrison retreated a little too, shifting his weight to his heels and raising his chin dismissively at his opponents.

"The heroes have arrived," he said. Despite the sardonic edge to his words, his voice had taken on an odd, resonant quality that must have been deliberate, and I found myself wondering where he'd learned to talk like that.

"You crossed a line today," Armsmaster stated, shifting his grip on his halberd.

"I had to make a point."

The portion of Armsmaster's face that could be seen beneath his visor twisted into a look of pure disgust. "Villains like you, that would do something this despicable to make a _point?_ The Birdcage is too good for you."

"You see me as a villain," Harrison said smugly, obviously reveling in the hero's anger, "But I'd call myself more of a crusader."

"I don't care what you call yourself."

Harrison smirked. It wasn't visible through his visor, but he was very good at using body language and every muscle and bone in his body seemed to be _screaming_ condescending amusement and contempt. I hated that look, even when it was directed at someone else.

"You should," he told them. "Words are important, especially when they're used for _public relations._ " He spat the last two words like a pair of vile curses. "They usually have double meanings, and _villain_ tends to stand in for _acceptable target._ " There was more coldness to his voice as he finished his little speech, and though I thought it was _probably_ feigned, it was hard to tell with Harrison.

"Actions speak louder than words," Armsmaster replied. "And your actions seem more than worthy of the term _acceptable target._ "

"I've harmed no one, at least no one that wasn't already trying to break my spine. This is a _message,_ not an attack."

"Well?" prompted Armsmaster, "What is your message?"

"Heroes should accept praise for the work they do, and full responsibility for their fuckups. Your organization seems to be taking credit for captures they had little part in, and likes to bury the monsters among them before anything _unseemly_ comes near the public eye."

"I took in Lung myself," Armsmaster pointed out. "While the villains were busy shooting at him and making him even stronger."

"We fought your battle for you," he said, "And the Protectorate was too bound up in red tape and misplaced pride to accept help where it was offered."

"Help from the likes of you?" The hero's mouth twisted into an ugly, challenging sneer.

"Why not?" Harrison said, "Or are you too good for us?" Armsmaster opened his mouth to reply—probably with a justified _hell yes_ —but was cut off as Harrison let out a bark of mad laughter and charged, sprinting right towards Armsmaster with his hand outstretched. Before I could blink, the hero slashed out with his halberd, grazing Harrison's chestplate and gouging out a sliver of the metallic bone. I took a shaky step forward, not sure of what I was trying to do and still in shock from the suddenness of the assault.

Velocity recovered first, striking at Harrison's right side and landing blow after blow against his shoulder before he could blink. They didn't seem to do much more than annoy him, but he was driven a few inches to the side and had to parry another strike from the halberd against his arm. There was a bright flash of what looked like plasma, and a large chunk of armor clattered to the ground, smoking slightly.

The assembled Wards and I jerked into action at almost the same time. Gallant raised his hand and began firing white pulses towards the pair of us as I rushed towards the fight. They dissipated whenever they hit my armor, but one collided with the tight mesh I used to protect my joints, sinking into my skin as if there was nothing in the way. I stumbled for a moment, fighting to keep myself upright as the blood seemed to drain out of my veins, replaced by tepid water.

My knees gave out almost immediately. I tried to scream, though I wasn't sure what emotion I was trying to express, but all that came out was a low groan. The heat of the fight was gone, the _fire_ that made it worthwhile. Everything seemed dull and blurry, lost and drifting in a distant gray haze.

I fell to one knee, my hands braced against the floor and my arms shaking slightly as they held my weight. Before I could collapse any further, Aegis was in front of me and aiming a heavy punch at my stomach. I tried to dodge, tried to _want_ to dodge, but before I could muster the energy to move it was too late. There wasn't any plating on my stomach, since I wanted to be able to bend and twist at the waist, so there was nothing to protect me from the sheer physical force of the hit. My whole body folded almost in half, bowling me over and smashing the back of my head into the floor. I bit the tip of my tongue and winced as I tasted blood, but luckily my helmet soaked most of the blow and my head barely even tingled. My gut clenched and spasmed, and I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't eaten right before the mission as I retched emptily into my helmet.

Poking at my midsection, I grimaced at the itching, buzzing feeling that spread across it, more intense than usual but still not enough to trigger a real pain response. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a hand raising towards me, and reacted instantly. Pushing past the lingering feeling of emptiness, I rolled to the side to avoid another blast of emotion from Gallant. Fresh adrenaline pulsed through me, driving me to my feet. My abdominal muscles weren't working properly, though it was hard to tell from the tingling how bad the injury was, so I went limp and let my exoskeleton support me. Gritting my teeth, I ignored Aegis—he could beat the shit out of me all he liked, I had more important targets.

Lurching to the side to avoid another charge from the Wards leader, I darted forward and slammed into Gallant shoulder first, knocking him into a wall. He hit the ground hard and lay there, stunned.

Just as I raised a hand to hit him again, I caught sight of something in the corner of my eye and threw myself sideways. An arm rushed past my shoulder, covered in clocks that spun and whirled. They were almost hypnotic, I thought, as I slapped them away. Clockblocker howled in pain, clutching at his arm as he slumped to the ground. I felt a momentary stab of concern, and then...

And then my body was on _fire,_ as if I'd just been dumped into a tub of boiling water. The sudden guilt vanished like a kite in a hurricane, leaving only the electric, all consuming urge to hit something until it stopped moving. _Thanks,_ I thought viciously, glancing down at Gallant. He must have recovered enough to start shooting again. I'd have to fix that for him.

Grinning in a way that probably would've looked unhinged if it weren't hidden by my visor, I kicked out at his side. There was a satisfying clash of metal on metal, leaving a mid-sized dent in the plating of his armor. I attacked again, aiming for his shoulder, but was grappled from behind by what I assumed was Aegis. He tugged at the armor on my shoulderblades, obviously trying to tear it apart, but to my own mild surprise it held. I reared my head back, slamming into him with my helmet. Grunting, he stumbled back a step and made another jab at my stomach.

 _Fucker,_ I thought, grabbing his fist as it connected and squeezing as hard as I could. Bones crunched, and Aegis grimaced as his attack connected, smearing blood across the mesh and padding around my waist. Wasn't he supposed to be a brute, too? I stared at him, shocked at how unbothered he seemed by the fact that I'd just broken his hand.

Before I could wonder why he wasn't acting hurt, he was already retaliating with an elbow to my chest that slammed me hard into the wall. The air was crushed out of my lungs, leaving me reeling as I kept my grip on his hand in an attempt to stay upright. He shoved me in the chest, and I sprawled on the floor. My armor smashed into the ground with enough force to crack the tile beneath me.

Another bolt of light struck me, right on the underside of my knee. Curling up into a ball to better protect myself, I felt a solid kick connect with my forearm where it was wrapped around my head. My breath was barely recovered from Aegis's blow to my diaphragm, and now it came in short, shallow gasps. The world spun, whether from the hit itself or the effects of Gallant's blasts I wasn't sure. There wasn't enough air the way I was, not enough room to stand, and I could feel Aegis slamming his boots into every joint he could find, searching for a weak point. My whole body was taught as a string, begging for some form of release, but I was frozen in place by a sense of impending horror, something _bad_ that was waiting for me the second I let myself uncoil.

I stopped, forced myself to stay still, to relax the tension in my shoulders. _It's not real,_ I berated myself.

As if on cue, the fear was gone, replaced by the same sense of burning hatred, of an enormous pressure building inside me that was just waiting to be unleashed. If I was going to win, I had to get up.

That, and I was _fucking sick_ of those emotion-altering lasers. Hoping to take Aegis by surprise, I burst out of my defensive stance and popped to my feet in almost the same motion, noting the groggy stirrings of the barely recovered Clockblocker. He was still busy pulling himself to his feet, which would hopefully give me time to deal with Gallant.

I stepped forward, but was thrown violently off my feet as Aegis slammed his fist into the control module of my exoskeleton. The force of the blow probably would've snapped my neck if it wasn't for the reinforced outer spine that took most of the damage, and I slammed face-first into a row of lockers. Dazed, I fell backwards and landed on my back, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lighting above me. There was a long scratch on the surface of my visor, and I realized I wasn't quite sure when it had gotten there.

Grimacing, I twitched my metal fingers and toes, and was pleased to find them all in working order. The control module was protected by a shell of the synthetic bone armor I'd used on my skeleton, but there was always the risk of it denting and damaging the more delicate components inside. Turning my back on Aegis had been stupid, he might've seriously hurt me if he'd been a little stronger.

Wincing slightly at the light tingling in my spine that suggested I'd have one hell of a tension headache later, I scrambled to my feet. Clockblocker was advancing on my right side, with Gallant firing blast after blast at my left. None of them had hit any of my armor's weak points yet, mostly because he'd apparently learned his lesson and was shooting from outside my reach, and thus out of point-blank range.

Right in front of me, Aegis was already aiming a swipe at my head. I dodged, and nearly blundered into a grab from Clockblocker. It was easy to see their strategy, by that point. Gallant would keep blitzing me while he stayed too far away to hit, keeping me off balance and hopefully getting me to make a mistake. Meanwhile Aegis, who wasn't quite strong enough to hurt me directly through my armor, would herd me toward Clockblocker. From what I'd read online, his power froze someone in time for entire minutes, and in a fight that was a long time. One touch from him, and I was done.

Across the hallway, I caught a glimpse of Harrison backing away from Armsmaster. There were deep gouges all over his armor, and his chestplate was half torn away. The edge of the cut that had severed it was melted and deformed, bending upward to reveal the simple black shirt he'd worn underneath. He turned his head my way, and jerked it towards the hallway behind us.

It was a reminder that we weren't here to win. I shook my head, wincing as Aegis slammed a fist into my shoulder. The force of it pushed me backwards a few inches, but I launched myself into motion almost instantly, pushing off the wall behind me and diving under his outstretched arm. Slamming my fist into his side as hard as I could, I winced at the sound of bones snapping and focused on the fact that he seemed neither debilitated nor in pain from when I'd crushed his hand.

"Let's go," I shouted, and sprinted off down the hallway. Glancing over my shoulder, I found that Harrison was in fact following me, along with the group of heroes at his heels. Velocity blurred into position in front of us, throwing both his arms out as if to stop us in our tracks.

"He gets weaker as he gets faster," Harrison told me as he crashed headlong into the hero, shoving him out of the way. Velocity stumbled, but recovered almost instantaneously and began making blindingly quick jabs to the his armor's joints and visor. His opponent didn't seem to care, simply continuing his flight down the hallway without even acknowledging the beating he was receiving.

Together we fled past row upon row of shining red lockers, our feet pounding dents into the linoleum and half the Protectorate on our heels. Armsmaster was already gaining on us, apparently using some kind of propulsion system in his armor to eke a little more speed out of his sprint.

Then, without warning a glimmering blue barrier phased into existence just in front of us. I slammed into it full-tilt, with no chance to slow down before I bounced off and hit the ground. My helmet cracked against the floor, and I was once again thankful that I'd thought to put padding on the inside.

"Thank you, Shielder," Armsmaster said, leveling his halberd at our prone forms.

Harrison snarled, leveling his stolen gun at the hero and firing twice at his visor. He missed both times, apparently still disoriented from his collision with the wall. Still, it put Armsmaster on the defensive for an instant, giving him time to leap to his feet and turn to face Shielder. He was still standing in front of his cousins, though Glory Girl seemed to have recovered somewhat from when I'd inexplicably bypassed her invulnerability. She was hovering protectively over Panacea. I winced as I noticed that she had lifted her injured foot behind her, and her face was drawn with pain. Her sister still wasn't moving.

 _"You,"_ she said, and I trembled slightly at the sheer force of the venom she'd directed at me.

Harrison just turned back around, ignoring the New Wave in favor of the still advancing Protectorate. Velocity made a grab for his gun, but was smacked out of the way almost contemptuously. It was fairly obvious that his powers were a bad match for brutes, with his reduced strength at higher speeds.

Then, Harrison leapt into motion once again. He drew up his weapon and fired four times at Armsmaster, backing away all the while. Bullets bounced off his armor, and though they didn't do any physical damage, he flinched back for a moment when one lucky shot glanced off his visor.

Shielder snarled, and the forcefield blocking the corridor disappeared, only to wink back into existence a few feet in front of the Protectorate leader. He really was a protector at heart—and easy to predict.

Harrison sprinted the last few feet in barely an instant, ducking under Glory Girl's left arm and pointing the gun at Panacea, pressing it directly against her forehead.

"I assume there's a Manton limit on that shield of yours," he said calmly.

"What the fuck?!" I shouted, barely stopping myself from lunging at him. Forcing myself to keep calm, I grit my teeth and stood back, knowing that he might actually hurt her if anyone got too close—including me. He just gave me a look that was part warning and part threatening, and turned his attention to the gathered heroes.

"This probably isn't going to end well," he commented.

"Let go of my sister," Glory Girl growled, "Or I will _snap you in half!"_ Harrison didn't quite flinch, even when he was barely a yard away from an enraged brute that could throw trucks like baseballs, but I did notice that he had grown visibly tense.

Armsmaster's mouth twisted into a hateful grimace, and he leveled his halberd at us like a lance. That was the only warning I got before something small shot out of the end of it and rushed towards me, slamming into my shoulder so hard that it spun me halfway around. I had a fraction of a second of quiet dread, as I remembered how on the night I first met Armsmaster, he'd used a grappling hook to outmaneuver Lung and bring him down.

Then, I was flying. The walls were nothing but a red blur for a single frozen moment, before I crashed into the ground and sprawled at the hero's feet.

"Cobalt!" Harrison shouted, gripping the stolen gun even tighter and craning his neck around to face us. I could just make out the tip of the weapon before the rest of his hand was hidden by the back of Armsmaster's knee. Fighting the dizziness of my sudden reorientation, I tried to get to my feet, only to have the blade of that _damn_ halberd slam into the back of my neck.

"I assume this is the control system?" There was a wave of intense heat from behind me, and the smell of burning hair nearly made me choke as a shower of sparks cascaded over my shoulder. _Harrison's armor,_ I realized. _He cut it with plasma._

"Don't!" I yelled, for once not giving a damn about how panicky I might sound. "You'll take my fucking head off!"

"I won't discount the possibility," he said coldly, "But I will probably be able to disable your armor without hurting you, should you move. Do _not_ move."

"Back off," Harrison barked, sounding slightly panicked now. _Nice acting._

"Take your own advice, or I might have to relocate your spine," threatened Glory Girl, floating menacingly towards him until they were less than two feet apart. I grimaced as the alien terror wormed its way into me, making me fidget slightly under the blade of the halberd.

"Vicky!" Gallant shouted. "Calm down!"

 _"Calm down?!"_ she spat, and stared at him as if he'd grown another head.

"No, by _all means_ use your fear aura on the desperate man with the gun," Harrison gritted out, still playing the sarcastic anarchist even in his terror. He was trembling, I noticed, and the hand that held the weapon was shaking so badly that the barrel was jumping back and forth. To thwart Shielder, it was held so close to Panacea that each twitch pushed a lock of frizzy hair across her forehead.

For a second, I thought the heroine might actually snap and go for his throat, but after a moment of tense silence she just drifted backwards. Her fists were still clenched so hard that they shook, but the fear in the back of my mind had lessened into more of an irritating buzz.

No one seemed to know where to go from there. Unfortunately, momentary respite lasted barely a second before heavy footsteps could be heard racing down the hallway, and Harrison shouted almost instantly, "Stop right there!"

Through the gap between Armsmaster and Velocity beside him, I could see a lone black-clad PRT agent, standing stock still in the center of the passage. With exaggerated care, he raised his hands and removed his helmet, revealing dusty brown hair and utterly unremarkable pale brown eyes that made his face look almost shockingly average. Dropping the helmet on the ground, he put his arms high in the air and spoke in a cautious, earthy voice.

"This is Thomas Calvert, here to negotiate on behalf of the PRT."


	14. Turkey, From the Look of It

_Thank god for Thomas Calvert._

The PRT officer stood neutrally with his hands upraised, spreading his own little patch of order into the chaos of the fight. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, as Glory Girl alternated between snarling at Harrison and sending helpless glances toward the girl at his feet. Her jaw jumped occasionally from the apparent effort of holding back her fear aura, which clearly _wasn't working,_ and the last thing anyone needed was for someone to get jumpy and start a bloodbath. I could still feel the pressure at the back of my neck, the slight prickling where my control module was being pushed into my skin by _Armsmaster._ The hero, who was currently threatening me with a weapon whose miniature replica I owned.

And _Harrison,_ who'd somehow managed to undershoot even my _nonexistent_ expectations for basic human decency, was pointing a gun at a girl who probably saved dozens of lives in any given week. No matter how much as I wanted to shout myself hoarse at him, I didn't want to be the one that set fire to the powderkeg, especially when I only had about an inch and a half of metal between my brain stem and a plasma injector.

But the PRT officer, standing with his arms raised and his ordinary face perfectly visible, appeared approachable, professional... and completely relaxed.

I knew that it was an act—no ordinary human could possibly feel calm while standing in the middle of a superpowered Mexican standoff, let alone one where Glory Girl was participating—but it didn't really matter. He _looked_ calm, and seemed to be combating the mounting tension through his sheer presence. The situation needed a lot of de-escalating, and _hopefully_ the PRT hadn't sent a total idiot to do their negotiating.

Armsmaster, on the other hand, seemed less than pleased. "As leader of the Protectorate, I am authorized to make decisions in a hostage situation."

"As am I," the officer replied. His voice was deep, mellow... and a bit off-putting, now that I actually listened to it, though I couldn't put my finger on why. "And all ranking PRT personnel are trained in negotiation techniques. I don't want to take sides here—I just want to get everyone out of this building alive and unharmed." I rolled my eyes a little at that, but it _was_ probably true that his main priority was making sure no one hurt thebest healer in the country.

"These two criminals are not going to escape justice," insisted Armsmaster, apparently reluctant to risk the two of us escaping. _Nice to see he has his priorities straight,_ I thought irritably, wriggling in place to try and alleviate the pressure on the back of my neck. His weapon moved to follow me.

Harrison made a dissatisfied noise. "I have a better idea. We leave, you leave, and the trouble ends?" Glory Girl turned her head toward the PRT agent, wearing a pleading expression that made me wonder if that was what _I_ looked like, when she'd been ready to tear open my armor.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," replied Calvert. "It sets a bad precedent, and more villains will think pulling something like this is a good idea."

"I know who she is," Harrison insisted, gesturing at his hostage with his free hand. "Panacea. She's a hell of a lot more valuable than we are."

"She's my _sister,"_ Glory Girl spat, glaring murderously at him.

Calvert ignored her, focusing instead on Harrison. "If you harm one of the best healers on the continent, you _will_ have every hero and villain who has ever participated in an Endbringer battle gunning for your head. Back down now, and I can guarantee that you won't go to the Birdcage. But the longer this continues..." He trailed off, letting us fill in the blanks ourselves.

"You can't send us to the birdcage," Harrison said with relish. "I can promise you that."

"Your daughter appears to be a minor," Calvert conceded reluctantly, "But you—"

"He's not my dad," I blurted. Harrison gave me a _look,_ I could tell even without seeing his face.

"Cobalt," he said, sounding more exasperated than angry—though that might just be another part of his persona. It probably helped that it was true, even according to our bullshit backstory.

"Is that your cape name?" asked Calvert conversationally.

"Yes," Harrison replied shortly. "Cobalt and Sentry." _Generic names for some generic-looking power armor._

"Right then, Sentry. Your... partner certainly looks underage, true. But you yourself will be taking full responsibility—"

"Yes, I will. But you won't send me to the Birdcage."

"Would you tell me what makes you think so?"

"No. But don't bother threatening me, I am absolutely certain." Thomas Calvert frowned, but didn't object.

"Regardless, you've gotten yourself into a bad situation. You are already surrounded, and Protectorate reinforcements are on their way."

"I want to leave. That's all I want."

Calvert opened his mouth to speak again, but I didn't hear him. At Harrison's feet, barely visible even from my angle, Panacea had stirred. Her eyelids twitched slightly, cracking open for a fraction of a second before focusing on Harrison. To her credit, she didn't react at all. Just laid there, apparently trying to figure out what was going on.

Tense, I peered up at the faces around me. Gallant had noticed, I could see him glancing in her direction and tightening his hand into a fist. It was impossible to tell with Armsmaster, he had a decent poker face and a visor over his eyes, but I knew Harrison hadn't. He was looking in the opposite direction, his attention wholly focused on Calvert.

Slowly, so slowly that at first I couldn't even tell it was happening, her hand began moving towards his ankle. I wasn't sure what she thought she could accomplish—he was heavily armored, and even if he _weren't,_ he was still a tall, well-built man with a gun. She inched higher—even Glory Girl had taken notice by now, and was managing to keep a straight face.

 _What are you doing?!_ I wanted to scream at her. She looked like she was going for a small patch of skin at his ankle, where the bottoms of his pants had gotten bunched up under his greaves, but _why?_ She was a healer, with no offensive powers I could recall. Was she trying to scratch him or something?

It didn't matter. Whether she really was that reckless or just had some kind of striker power waiting in the wings, if she startled Harrison he really would shoot her. _Fuck._

"Panacea's awake," I blurted out, gritting my teeth as the fear aura redoubled.

And, apparently realizing her time was up, Panacea struck. Harrison reeled back, kicking her arm away and firing reflexively ahead of him as he jerked aside. Glory Girl flinched, but took the bullet without so much as a scratch—apparently her power had recovered from whatever had been wrong with it before. Shielder shouted something, maybe a curse, but it was lost in the chaos of shouts and the noise of the gunshot.

Harrison tried to bring the gun back to bear, but it was already over. A field of bright blue energy had spread protectively over the healer, who was struggling to get her feet under her.

"What the hell?!" I demanded, suddenly _very_ aware of how pissed off the hero holding me at halberd-point might have been if Panacea had gotten herself killed. "Were you _trying_ to get shot?!" _If he hadn't flailed his arms so much, you'd be painting the floor right now._

"Take off the armor," Armsmaster ordered, ignoring me completely. I wasn't really sure whether the command was directed at me or Harrison, but neither of us moved.

Harrison still looked slightly surprised that he no longer had a hostage. Grimacing, he leveled the weapon at the PRT officer, but Glory Girl interspersed herself between them.

Armsmaster nudged my side with one foot. "Take it off," he said again, "Or I'll do it for you."

He was probably bluffing, but _fuck that._ "Okay, okay!" I stammered. After sending the command to unlock the clasps on my armor, I moved to open the one on my right shoulder.

"Freeze!" Armsmaster demanded.

"What the fuck? I'm taking it off!"

"Slowly. No sudden moves. You too, Sentry."

"You can't force us to unmask!" Harrison said incredulously.

"Keep the helmets on," suggested Calvert. "But drop your weapon."

The gun clattered to the floor, and I found myself letting out a breath. Slow as molasses, I unlatched each section of my armor, easing it open until only my neck was still connected. Wincing in anticipation, I disconnected the command module. It retracted out of my spine, making a sickening sliding sound that I felt more than heard. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grunting in pain, I pushed it away from me, leaving me with only the tinkertech helmet.

Feeling naked without my armor, I raised my hands above my head and did my best impression of a cooperative prisoner—which I supposed I was, at least in the case of the Protectorate.

"You are both under arrest," Calvert said, pulling a pair of zip ties from one of his pockets and gently securing both my hands behind my back. "You have the right to remain silent—"

"Anything you say can be used against you, right to a public defender, you know the speech," Armsmaster finished curtly, giving Harrison a rough shove.

After a group of techies tore off one of Sentry's gauntlets for analysis, and I tried not to wince too obviously, we were herded out of the building and into the afternoon sunshine. The heroes marched us into a PRT van in barely a minute, seating us both on matching steel benches. We were handcuffed and shackled to the seats by our ankles, with Armsmaster staring us down from the opposite side of the vehicle in case we tried to escape.

"What now?" I asked. The Protectorate leader ignored me, choosing instead to glower even more intensely.

I gritted my teeth. _Damn silent treatment._ "Do I have the right to know where the hell I'm going?"

"No," Armsmaster grunted.

"Well, fuck you too."

"Cobalt," Harrison scolded.

I was about to open my mouth to say something else—I hadn't yet decided whether it would be an apology or a scathing remark—when the truck stopped dead, sending me sliding along the bench.

"What's—" I tried, but was shushed by Armsmaster, who had turned his head away from us and put a hand to his ear. He paused a moment, probably listening to his communicator.

"Hang a left!" he said suddenly, half-rising from his seat. The driver complied immediately, grinding back into motion a good deal faster than I thought was safe.

"What was that?"

"Not now," snapped the hero. "Hard left."

I stiffened suddenly in my seat, recognizing the staccato sound of gunfire. It was just like my first fight with Lung, though whoever was doing the shooting was much farther away.

"What the hell?" Harrison chipped in, but was stonewalled just the same as I was.

We rattled down a badly-maintained side street, and through the steel mesh that covered the back windows I caught sight of a bald man in a white blazer with the slogan, _"Electric Entertainers' Octet"_ written on it in bright red. His jacket was subtler than most, but easily recognizable as Empire.

 _Gunfire in Empire territory..._ "Is there a fight with the ABB?" I asked, craning my neck to try and see more through the window.

 _"Quiet!"_ Armsmaster hissed. "Keep going straight until thirty-third, then make a right," he said, this time addressing the driver.

Just as the van began to turn, I caught sight of a black-clad figure in my limited field of view. The van hit a bump, and there was a half-second of frozen silence while I drifted weightlessly upwards, my eyes irresistibly drawn to the bright green of his scope as it caught the afternoon light. And when I turned my gaze to his military-grade black gear, the faint glinting of eyes behind his mask, I knew instantly that he was Coil's man.

Then I bounced back into my seat, and a gunshot went off. For a moment, I thought the mercenary had shot at me. But I could see him outside, crouching in a doorway and leveling his gun at something behind us. Another shot rang out, and the doorframe splintered where the bullet struck just inches from his head.

"Step on it," Armsmaster ordered, drawing his halberd and getting to his feet. His free hand gripped the bars on the window, steadying himself as the vehicle rolled over a bump. The driver, who probably didn't need telling twice, put the petal to the metal and sent us shrieking down the narrow road.

We were almost to the end of the street when there was a rapid burst of gunfire, and suddenly the van was lurching to the side and the world was spinning, and Harrison and I were catapulted to the floor. I landed headfirst, scratching my already much abused helmet. Groaning, I lifted my head to look around and saw that the back window had been shattered, and bits of glass were strewn everywhere. It felt like I probably had some in my palms too, from where I'd tried to stop my fall.

"Fuck," Armsmaster swore, pulling himself back to his feet and kicking the doors open with one blow. "Stay there," he ordered—as if we needed _him_ telling us that when we were already chained to our seats—and leapt out into the fight.

A few seconds passed, and I could hear armored footsteps and what might have been someone else running. Then I heard glass crunching, and a black-clad figure stepped past the ruined doors.

"He's gone?" asked Harrison. The mercenary nodded, and drew a wire and a thin metal strip from one of the pockets in his uniform. He knelt next to me, apparently unconcerned by the shards of window on the ground, and began picking the locks on my handcuffs. After a minute, he moved on to my ankle, then to Harrison's bonds.

While he worked, I busied myself with flexing my hands and trying to pick out the glass. It hurt like a _bitch,_ and I wondered for an instant if my pain inhibitor was doing to me what Glory Girl's powers had done to her, making me more sensitive in the long run. _Not currently important._

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, once I'd gotten rid of what I could.

"Orders," he replied curtly. "You're on Anderson, thirty-third is up there—" he pointed toward the front of the van, "—and thirty-two is over there. Armsy went that way."

"Thank you," Harrison said.

"Take these." The black-clad man handed him the lockpicks, before gesturing at the floor. Harrison stared blankly at him.

"Drop them on the floor," he explained. "They'll assume they missed something when they searched you."

Harrison nodded and did what he was told. The mercenary slipped away just as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving Harrison and I standing in the back of the truck, listening to the far-off sounds of gunfire.

"Grab your armor," Harrison told me, grabbing his own by the scruff of its neck. I moved to step into the legs, but he grabbed me by the shoulder. "No, don't put it on. We can't get out of here unnoticed unless we stash it somewhere." I nodded, and followed as he hopped out of the van and jogged cautiously down the street.

Just a block away, we ducked into a side-alley to hide our suits behind a dumpster. Harrison told me that he'd come back later with a few goons and collect them, which did wonders to soothe my nerves. Sentry's armor was still missing the gauntlet, but that would be far easier to replace than two full sets of armor.

From there, we did our best impression of terrified civilians as we sprinted away from the action. We passed two more sets of dueling gang members, and I caught a terrifying glimpse of one of Coil's men shooting an Empire goon from behind almost three feet of solid concrete. He looked at us before he fell, his eyes wide with surprise and his mouth gaping like a fish. Then he collapsed, and all that was left was a body and a wall with a perfectly round hole in it, still smoking slightly.

There was a side-street to the left, and Harrison pushed me towards it, cursing softly under his breath. I couldn't see any more gang members, and less than a minute later we came upon a police barricade. A small crowd had gathered behind it, and I saw a harassed-looking Velocity standing on the hood of a car and holding his arms over the crowd, trying to calm them down. I tensed, waiting for him to recognize us and give chase, but he only waved us through. Before we'd even ducked under all the yellow tape, a reporter shoved a microphone at Harrison. He dodged out of the way, muttering something uncomplimentary and leading me gently through the throng of people.

Within two blocks, the streets were once again deserted. It was our own little no-man's land, too far from the action for the bystanders and first responders, yet too close for casual passersby. I took a deep breath, focusing on the way the cool spring air made my nostrils tingle as my lungs expanded, and released it as slowly as I could.

"A job well done, I'd say," Harrison said casually.

I wondered for a moment how many people might've been hurt in the turf war that had apparently been started to facilitate our escape. Probably quite a few skinheads and mercenaries, and anyone who got unlucky enough to be caught between them. Maybe if I'd done something different... but that was one of those tracks of thought that led the same shitty, useless place no matter how many times I went down it.

Another breath in, and out. It was outside my control—no. I _did_ have a choice, but I'd made it. I would protect my dad, and try to keep collateral damage as low as possible. If people got hurt... that wasn't _okay,_ not by any stretch. But there was no undoing it now, and I wouldn't if I could. So I kept walking, following Harrison and focusing on the way his shirt bunched up at the shoulders, then stretched out again as he moved. It was a rhythm of its own; crinkle and smooth, crinkle and smooth.

A few minutes later, Harrison and I finally approached the entrance to Coil's base. I'd never seen it in daylight before—we'd been in the back of a van when we left that morning—and it was almost disappointing. At night it had the eerie atmosphere of an abandoned construction sight, with the darkness that shrouded it lending it a sense of mystery that evaporated under the light of day. Now, it just looked... boring.

Then Harrison and I went inside, and passed through a secret entrance. I'd never used one of the smaller ones before, since we'd always been driving, but it was almost exactly what I'd expected. It was narrow, too cramped for us to walk side by side, and shoddily illuminated by a lot of flickering lightbulbs that were littered with moth corpses. The downward slope was just gentle enough to be bearable, but still made me feel as though I was more sliding than walking. Ignoring the musty smell, I followed close behind Harrison as we emerged into a more familiar section of the base.

"Where are we going?" I asked, but it was more a formality than anything else.

"Your room," he replied, exactly as expected, "But we're making a stop first." I blinked, somewhat startled by how far he'd veered off-script. For a second, I wondered if we were going to see Coil, but he was headed the wrong way for that.

"But, where—"

"Here," he said, cutting me off and gesturing at a door set into the side of the main area. Opening it, he motioned me inside with one hand and rubbed at the back of his head with the other, yawning widely.

Inside, there was what looked like an office. Arranged throughout the room were a small desk, a cheap-looking swivel chair, and a miniscule filing cabinet. The only things that looked out of place were a cot, not unlike mine, and a mini-fridge plugged in near the door, turning it into an odd hybrid between workplace and living area.

"My office," he said, gesturing at the room at large. I raised an eyebrow at him.

Harrison didn't elaborate, instead moving to the fridge and pulling out a plate covered in what seemed to be his lunch. There was a sandwich—turkey, from the look of it—and an apple balanced precariously on the edge of the plate. Setting both on a tray, he shoved it in my direction.

I looked down at the offered meal, vaguely annoyed that of all the bizarre things that had happened today, this was somehow the one that confused me into speechlessness.

"What?" I managed, after a moment.

"Take it," he said, pushing the tray further toward me. I grabbed it warily by a pair of convenient handles, eyeing it as if I expected it to explode. Harrison, who seemed unfazed by my obvious bafflement, got up and gestured at me to follow him out of the office.

Once we were back at my room, I turned to stare at him again. "What's with the food?"

"You did well today," he replied. "And besides, using those machines of yours is hell on the metabolism."

"Okay?"

"Good. I'll come and talk to you after I've debriefed with Coil."

"...Right."

He turned to leave, his hand resting on the door handle, when I recollected myself enough to speak.

"Um, thanks," I said, hefting the platter in explanation.

Harrison smiled, and left without another word.


	15. Interlude: Educated Guesswork

"Look, I know we're all tired."

Twin groans filled the room, as Dean and Dennis both sagged a little further back into their chairs.

Normally, Dean didn't like to complain—but he hadn't gotten to bed until after four in the morning yesterday, and if Brockton Bay hero work wasn't completely insane, it probably would've been one of his worst days on the job so far. At least this time, the only deaths were gang members. Still, he'd woken up at six thirty to get to school, gotten halfway through one of the most grueling math tests he'd ever had, been interrupted by an attack targeted specifically at the Wards civilian identities, and then had to spend several hours doing crowd control for a small gang war between Coil and the Empire. _Then,_ there had been the medical checkups and the debriefing for the gang skirmish. And after _that,_ he'd needed to talk to Victoria, because she was still shaken up after having her ankle crushed—not that he didn't _want_ to, she'd been understandably upset, but he'd been dog tired by then.

Armsmaster had actually wanted to debrief them about Cobalt and Sentry before they went to bed, but thankfully Miss Militia had told him to postpone it until the next morning. Even once he'd thanked her and collapsed into bed, he _still_ hadn't managed to get to sleep for more than an hour. None of the Wards had gotten healed, since Amy had been busy with Victoria, so his side had been aching where Cobalt had kicked it. It was only when he'd started to hear birdsong outside that his tiredness overwhelmed his discomfort and he finally passed out.

As badly as Dean felt, Dennis looked worse. He'd injured his forearm during the fight at Arcadia, and spent the night in the infirmary. The only reason he was awake with the rest of them was that Amy would be stopping by as soon as she could, which would probably be right after the debriefing.

Carlos, who knew all this, grimaced apologetically at them. "Look, I'm really sorry about this, but we need to write down anything we can remember about the fight at Arcadia before we forget. So... let's brainstorm."

"They were assholes," Dennis suggested in a tone of mock helpfulness. His arm was still in a sling, though Dr. Drummond had said that it was fractured and not broken.

"I'm not going to argue with that," Carlos said, glancing down at his own injured hand.

"Got anything more specific?" Missy asked from her place by the whiteboard. It was her job to transcribe whatever their little group managed to come up with, since Carlos couldn't really write that well with his left hand.

"They had tinker gear," Dennis said. "And it seemed pretty good, too. Made from quality materials, I mean—not scrap metal like some newbie villains."

"That's a bit weird," Missy mused, scribbling down the observation. "I mean, I've never even heard of either of them before."

"Sentry claimed to have taken part in the villain alliance against the ABB," Armsmaster replied. "Other than that, nothing. Not even a recent electronics store robbery. That means that they either have money, or a third party is funding them."

"Probably the former," Velocity chipped in from where he leaned on the door. "Sentry's whole speech seemed like some personal vendetta—nobody's going to want to pay for that."

"Maybe the third party is hiring them?" suggested Missy.

"We have no evidence to support it," said Armsmaster. "The Empire might also be hired by someone else to carry out all the crimes they've committed, but without any reason to suspect it, we can't just throw out conspiracy theories." Missy deflated slightly, then wrote, _'Probably wealthy,'_ on the whiteboard.

"Okay," she chirped. "What else?"

"I think Cobalt may have been a brute," said Carlos. Dean, along with everyone else in the room, glanced at his bandaged hand. He'd wrapped it up, not because it really posed any threat to him to leave it uncovered, but because the sight of the pulverized limb had nearly made Chris lose his lunch.

Armsmaster shook his head. "The armor they were wearing gave them enhanced strength."

"I know, but I hit her as hard as I could and she didn't go down."

"Didn't she?" questioned Dennis, his brow crinkling in confusion. "I thought she started retching."

"Yeah," Carlos allowed. "But she should've been out for the count for a little while. There wasn't much armor there, and I broke my wrist on that punch. I've done that to ABB hitters twice her size and had them stunned for ten, fifteen seconds at least. She got back up almost immediately."

Missy glanced at Armsmaster, who nodded. She divided the bottom half of the whiteboard into two sections, labeled them _'Cobalt'_ and _'Sentry'_ respectively, and jotted down _'low-tier brute?'_ in Cobalt's half.

"If she's a brute, does that mean Sentry's the tinker?" she asked, her marker hand hovering over the whiteboard.

Carlos looked over at Armsmaster, who frowned. "It doesn't explain why he was so confident about avoiding the birdcage."

"Don't tinkers sometimes get more lenient sentencing?" Dean broke in.

"Sometimes. We are generally easier to contain, if we are kept in a room without any loose parts to work with. That still doesn't explain his confidence—there have been plenty of tinkers sentenced to the birdcage before. String Theory, to name one."

 _Easier to contain._ Dean frowned, rubbing thoughtfully at his cheek.

"What if Cobalt _is_ the tinker?" Dennis suggested. "Sentry might not have powers at all. That would explain how he knows he won't go to the birdcage, only parahumans can end up sentenced there."

Carlos nodded slowly, a grin breaking out on his face. "That makes sense!"

"It's a good hypothesis," Armsmaster said, "But put it down as conjecture, since there's really no way to know just yet."

Missy nodded, writing the whole hypothesis into the top section of the board.

"Right," Carlos said, straightening slightly. "I realize this is going to be mostly speculation, but I'd like to talk a bit about what their motives might be."

"Sentry's whole speech was about hero accountability," Dennis began.

"And they were more than willing to hurt innocent people," Dean recalled, scowling.

Carlos shook his head and said, "Sentry was. Cobalt panicked when he pointed the gun at Panacea, remember?"

"So she was there to support him," Missy said hesitantly. "And maybe she believes in whatever he's really fighting for, but she's not willing to go as far as murder."

"Real comforting," Dennis replied dryly, gesturing at his arm.

"Fair point," Carlos allowed. "I guess... all we really know is that Sentry hates the Protectorate, and Cobalt seems less violent, though that isn't saying much." Missy dutifully wrote it down, then turned back to face the room.

"So, why would Cobalt be following him, anyway?" Dennis mused aloud. "I mean, she straight-up told us he wasn't her dad."

"Uncle, maybe?" suggested Carlos.

"He could be any kind of legal guardian," Armsmaster asserted. "If he really is unpowered, he'd have to be some kind of family member. He was obviously in charge, and villains don't usually agree to be subordinates to non-parahumans."

Dean frowned. "I... don't think that's right." Everyone turned to look at him, and he paused, trying to put words to his thoughts. "Well, when I see emotions... it's hard to pin down _exactly_ what people are feeling, since it's usually pretty complicated. But when Cobalt looked at Sentry, even though there were a lot of conflicting emotions, a lot of them were things like fear or dislike."

Armsmaster blinked. "That does seem odd."

"That's not all," he said. "I think... Cobalt might not have wanted to be there at all."

"Explain."

"Well, her feelings for Sentry were pretty complicated, but if I stepped back and just looked at the whole picture, the negative definitely outweighed the positive. She didn't like attacking us either. So, if she doesn't like him, and she doesn't want to fight the Protectorate... it makes me think she might've been coerced somehow."

"Are you sure?" Carlos asked, looking shocked.

"No," Dean admitted. "It's all based on my emotion sense, which is kind of imprecise at the best of times. All I can really say for sure is that her feelings were all over the place, anything beyond that is just educated guesswork."

Armsmaster opened his mouth to speak, and then froze. "Colin?" asked Velocity, sounding slightly concerned.

"I... need to check something," he said, then turned on his heel and began striding down the hallway.

Velocity sighed. "I'll go see what that was about. You kids keep writing down anything that seems useful." He sped off, disappearing almost instantly.

Carlos coughed awkwardly. "Well, I'm sure they'll tell us if it's anything important."

"Should I write down the theory about Cobalt?" asked Missy. She was facing away from him, toward the blackboard, but Dean could see the unease coming off her in waves.

"Why not?" He smiled reassuringly in her direction, and tried not to wince when part of her aura turned pink. "Make sure to mark it as speculation though."

Dennis sat up a little straighter. "Are you that unsure?"

"Pretty much. All I know for _sure_ is that she was angry and resentful toward him before he pulled the gun on Amy, and that their feelings about each other weren't like parents and children I've seen before."

"That's fucked up," Missy said. Dean couldn't help but squirm a little in his seat hearing her swear.

Dennis shrugged expansively. "It's pretty fucked up whether she's going along with it on purpose or not."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, then froze as his phone beeped. Glancing briefly at his leader for permission, he flipped the device out of his pocket and glanced at the display.

"Amy says she'll be here in five."

"Thank _god,"_ Dennis groaned. "My arm hurts like hell."

"Wimp," Missy said playfully. He stuck his tongue out at her.

Carlos tried to keep the debrief going, but even Dean found it hard to concentrate with the prospect of healing just minutes away. They ended up kicking around crazed conspiracy theories, after Dennis had jokingly declared that Sentry could secretly be a robot, built and maintained by the tinker girl. Though he'd been half-heartedly reprimanded, it _had_ opened up the question of what exactly her specialization might be. From there, they'd gone down the rabbit hole into a debate worthy of the PHO forums.

Finally, after Missy had wondered aloud if maybe she specialized in strength enhancers and the armor part was just a bonus, they heard the buzzer go off. Carlos glanced at the plastic domino masks on a shelf near the door, shrugged, and opted to ignore the warning. There wouldn't be any tours after the attack at the school, and Amy had just told them she'd be there.

She walked in a moment later, her aura radiating unease. Victoria was conspicuously absent, and Dean liked to think he didn't need his emotion sense to tell that Amy was wishing she had stayed home.

"Thanks for coming," he said, smiling. She gave him a terse nod, sending the usual pulse of conflicted feelings through her aura, and he winced. He sincerely hoped Missy wouldn't end up doing the same thing whenever she saw him, a year or two down the road.

"It was nothing," Amy told him, though he could tell that she was irritated. He couldn't deny that Victoria might need her more, though he supposed it was too late now. Besides, Dennis was losing sleep from the pain in his arm, and he couldn't show up to school on Monday with a mysterious injury like that.

By unspoken agreement, Dean and Carlos held back, gesturing simultaneously at their teammate. Amy reached out to take his hand. She frowned slightly for a moment, then stepped back—it always awed him, how easy she made it seem. Dennis flexed the limb, grinning widely as he slipped it out of the sling.

"Thanks," he said, still beaming. Amy inclined her head slightly, then turned toward Dean. "You're next, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah," he replied, stretching out an arm. She took it, then grimaced.

"Nasty hit," she observed. The pain that had been dogging him for almost twenty-four hours now began to subside, and he sighed in obvious relief. Amy just turned to Carlos, healing his hand without so much as a word. Dean frowned at her back, looking in concern at her aura. It was a mess of anxiety—probably because she was worried about Vicky, which meant that _he_ was worried about her too.

"Amy?" he said gently. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?" She gave him a wary look out of the corner of her eye, and he remembered with some embarrassment that this was the second time in two visits that he'd drawn her aside. "I just wanted to ask how Victoria is doing," he reassured her.

"She's... better," the healer replied. "Having an injury that bad, well, hasn't really happened since before she got her powers. She was pretty shaken up after the bank thing, and then that crazy tinker fucked up her ankle. I guess she just needs a bit of time to get back on her feet." Dennis perked up for an instant at the pun, then wisely let it drop. Dean really might have hit him for that.

"Would it be alright if I stopped by later?" he asked politely.

"That might cheer her up," she replied, already heading for the door.

"Thank you again!" Dennis said, waving at her retreating figure as she strode into the hallway. On a sudden impulse, Dean jogged after her.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked, sounding annoyed. She kept walking, though she slowed down a little to let him catch up.

"I just wanted to ask how you were doing," he told her. "I mean, that fight sucked for all of us, but you and Vicky definitely got the worst of it."

"I'm fine."

"Amy," Dean said, softly. Her aura had gone up in a mess of grayish greens and yellows—he'd never been quite sure what they meant individually, but the combination had always seemed to accompany evasiveness. "It's okay to be a little shaken up. Sentry pointed a gun at you."

She scowled. "I wasn't even hurt."

"No, but—"

"Dean." Amy looked him dead in the eye and, with a shock, he realized that he hadn't seen her do that in a while. "Vicky's upset, so I'm upset." Her aura glistened with a light blue, bordering on white—sincerity. "That's really all there is to it," she concluded. The blue vanished. He opened his mouth to question her further, then closed it as Amy glared at him.

"Sorry," he said. "I just... I can _see_ that you aren't fine. And I know I shouldn't keep interrogating you every time you come here, and if I start doing it again, you can feel free to slap me." Her aura flashed an amused yellow for an instant—a small victory. It disappeared a moment later, leaving Amy still looking highly irritated.

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

He sighed. "I can tell you're upset, and I want to help. That's all."

"I know you want to help," Amy admitted reluctantly, "But this?" she gestured at the hallway, and at the two of them standing there, "This isn't helping." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. Dean watched her go, clenching his fists. His nails bit into his palms, throbbing to the beat of his heart. _I can't keep fucking up like this,_ he thought, grimacing slightly at the stinging in his hands.

Dean was just psyching himself up to go back to the rest of the Wards when he heard footsteps approaching. Turning, he noticed Armsmaster walking briskly down the hallway from his workshop. He looked like he was making a conscious effort not to run, as he would occasionally speed up and jog a few paces before slowing to a more professional pace. Velocity was at his shoulder, talking in a low voice.

Clearing his throat deliberately, Dean looked curiously in their direction as they stopped to talk to him. Armsmaster seemed eager to continue on to wherever he'd been going, held back only by Velocity's hand on his shoulder.

"Dean," Armsmaster said brusquely, "Tell the other Wards, I think I know who Cobalt is."

"You do?"

"Yes. The gauntlet we seized from Sentry matched the design of a set found in the basement of an independent hero, about a week and a half ago."

"So, she changed sides?" Dean asked hesitantly. Armsmaster scowled.

"No. Her father reported her missing last month. It seems you were right, unfortunately."

Dean's eyes widened. "She was kidnapped then?"

"It looks like it," the older hero confirmed. "There's more. She's the one I ran into during Lung's fight with the Undersiders. Aegis's idea about a minor brute rating might have merit—I can remember her taking quite a lot of punishment without seeming too uncomfortable."

"Can you tell this to the other Wards, Dean?" asked Velocity. "We need to inform the director, and get this kid back to her dad."

"Of course," Dean agreed, almost instantly. "But, how are you going to—"

Armsmaster turned milk white.

"Colin?" Velocity said with obvious alarm. Dean could only stare at the sudden rush of pale orange, a color he usually saw in stampeding crowds— _panic._

"What's wrong?" he asked, but Armsmaster had sealed his helmet. Velocity reached for his shoulder, but before he could do much of anything the armor unsealed again.

"Leviathan," he said.

"What?!" Dean blurted, turning to Velocity and searching, _praying_ for a denial.

The alarms started blaring.


	16. You're a Good Actor

I was just choking down the last of my breakfast when the alarm began to blare.

It said a lot about the meal that I was almost glad when I startled at the noise, knocking over my bowl and spilling tasteless oatmeal all over the floor. My hands flew instinctively to my ears as the insistent wailing echoed off the walls of my room.

Grimacing at the volume, I slid off my cot and eased my bare feet onto the cold floor. Careful not to step in any of the spilt mush, I padded over to the door. Pausing for a moment to consider my options, I shrugged and knocked as loudly as I could.

No one answered, but I could hear running feet on the catwalks outside, as well as a few urgent-sounding conversations that were too muffled for me to make out. I frowned, unsure of what exactly had triggered the alarm. A tiny part of me wondered whether it meant the Protectorate had launched an attack on the base, but my more pessimistic side quashed it immediately.

Although, there weren't a lot of emergencies that warranted a base-wide alarm, and just about all of them were positive. Well, from my perspective at least. If it were a fire, or any kind of disaster really, it would cause damage to the base and maybe draw the attention of the heroes.

I was still lost in thought when the whole room erupted with a low, hollow _boom._ The sudden noise shook the floor beneath my feet, thrumming through the walls and nearly knocking me to the ground. I cursed, grabbing the wall to try and keep my balance.

For an instant, there was no sound except the frantic shrieking of the alarm. Then the noise came again, like someone was beating a bass drum the size of the whole building. I cringed, the sound waking some primal dread in the back of my mind. It kept going, a low and rhythmic pounding so loud it felt like I could touch it.

After a moment of listening, paralyzed with terror, I felt myself begin to relax. It helped that the noise wasn't coming from the other side of _my_ door. Still, something about it kept me on edge, making me tense up every few seconds—maybe it was just that I'd seen way too many movies where low booming sounds meant an angry Balrog.

Restless, I paced a few tight circles around the room, concentrating on the feeling of the frigid concrete through the soles of my bare feet. After half a dozen laps, I felt like my mind was winding tighter and tighter with every step. Grunting with frustration, I strode over to the door and kicked it as hard as I could. One pair of running footsteps faltered and moved on. The rest didn't seem to miss a beat.

"Fuck!" I yelled, slamming a fist into the door. My hand stung, but I was too pissed off to care. "What's going on?!" I shouted. I breathed in as slowly as I could, then let it all out in a ragged huff, giving up on the calming exercise completely. The deep pounding noise continued, making my ears throb and spoiling any chance I might have had of calming myself down.

I clenched my jaw so hard I could feel my teeth start to ache, my frustration bubbling up until I shouted, "Open the fucking door!" In a sudden frenzy, I slammed both fists against the inside of the door, kicking it and bashing my knees into the unyielding steel. Finally, I smashed at it with the heel of my right hand and fell back with a muffled shout. Pain shot up through my wrist, and I grimaced at it as I sat sprawled on the floor. My palms had both gone numb, though sensation was beginning to return in the form of pins and needles spreading all the way up my forearms.

"Fuck."

Feeling suddenly exhausted, I lay on my back and listened to the alarm and the pounding noise, wishing I had some way of knowing what was going on. Was Harrison out there? It was his job to deal with me, wasn't it? So where the hell _was_ he?!

I could tell my blood was starting to boil again. "This is pointless," I said out loud. It didn't help. Annoyed, I glanced around the room for a means of distracting myself.

There wasn't a lot to choose from. Resigned to a long and obnoxious wait, I grabbed my notebook off the workbench in the corner and perched on the edge of my cot.

Flipping though the pages, I couldn't help but notice that I'd managed to fill almost three quarters of the book in the few days I'd had it. Maybe Harrison would give me another one once it was full—he'd been unusually accommodating after the fight at Arcadia. Still, the idea was a bit... unsettling. I was probably being paranoid, but something about accepting help from _Harrison_ just seemed so... bizarre. It would be like if Sophia offered me a stick of gum in the hallway—completely out of character and suspicious as hell.

Sighing and attempting to ignore the wailing and thumping in the background, I began working on my latest sketch—a model of a small generator that could fit into the armor at the small of my back, reducing the amount of energy I'd need to take in through food after a fight. My power was being stubborn as usual, pretty much switching off whenever I tried to think of how to interface it with the synthetic muscles that moved my exoskeleton. I had to scrape by with the background knowledge my power had given me, as well as little things I'd picked up while using it.

I wasn't sure if it was just a function of all the time I'd been spending alone in my room, but it was starting to seem like my power had its own sort of personality to it. Working with it was a great way to explore new ideas and kinds of machines, but it was when I skirted around the edges of my specialty that it seemed to respond the most. Granted, that response was more like a petulant child throwing a tantrum than anything else, but the difficulty of getting it to behave was enough reason in and of itself to make me want to keep going. I'd seen a lot of cheesy movies about the power of love, but I was beginning to think the power of boredom was an even greater motivator.

Even when I'd started the drawing yesterday, I hadn't been that optimistic about my success. It didn't really matter, though. Actually building it wasn't the point, even if there was a chance Coil would let me. The point was that it was damn near impossible, and there were only twenty-two pages left in my notebook. If Harrison wasn't going to give me another one, and there was really no way of knowing if he would, then I was going to get as much stimulation as possible out of every single page.

I'd barely put pencil to paper before there was a loud _bang_ that startled me into sitting bolt upright, notebook spilling to the floor. The thick metal door swung open, revealing Harrison standing in the doorway. His hair and shoulders were both soaked, and he was breathing hard.

"Come on," he said, beckoning me with one hand. Wide-eyed, I stood up from the bed and followed him out of the room. He walked fast, forcing me to break into an occasional jog to keep up with his longer strides. The power must have gone out, and despite the eerie red flashing of the emergency lights I could hardly see.

We passed mercenaries, some striding with purpose and others running in what looked to be panic, but all carrying a sense of urgency about them. What could scare Coil's men? I'd been around their base for around a month now, and I'd never once seen them phased by anything.

"What's going on?" I asked Harrison, knowing full well he probably wouldn't tell me anyth—

"Leviathan," he said flatly.

I stopped dead. "What?!"

"Keep moving." His voice was louder and harsher than I'd ever heard it, and I found myself flinching away from him without really meaning to. Still, I kept following close behind him, mind whirling. What was going on outside? Was dad in a shelter right now, huddled together with a crowd of terrified civilians. _Please be okay..._

"We need the suits," Harrison said abruptly, taking a right off one of the catwalks and thundering down some stairs that led to a long, dimly lit corridor. Turning my head, I thought I could make out the sound of running water. Distracted, I almost bumped into Harrison when he stopped abruptly in front of a door, fumbling in his pocket for a set of keys.

The lock clicked, and he gave the door a rough yank. Two sets of gleaming armor spilled out onto the floor, along with a box of my electronics. Wires and miscellaneous components scattered every which way, and I suppressed a wince.

Wordlessly, Harrison shoved the blue set into my hands and began fitting his own silver suit together, connecting the wires that ran between each piece. He made a muffled grunting sound as he plugged it in at the back of his neck, but was otherwise silent.

I fumbled to put on my own armor as quickly, managing to finish suiting up around the same time as he did.

"Are we joining the fight?" I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He flexed his left hand, the one left bare in absence of the gauntlet he'd lost.

"No, but _fucked_ if we're going to wander around in an Endbringer attack without gear." I blinked, realizing with a start that this was the first time I'd ever heard him swear.

"Let's go," he said, and took off again down the hallway, back the way we'd come. I moved to follow, then glanced at the closet again. On a shelf near the back, there lay the tinkertech soldering iron I'd been using to work on my armor.

Even as I grabbed it, I couldn't have said exactly why. There wasn't much I could do with it, not against an Endbringer. Though, if I thought about it, there wasn't much the _suits_ could do against an Endbringer either. It just felt better to have something sharp in my hand, and to feel my armor surrounding and protecting me.

Glancing up, I realized that Harrison was almost at the end of the corridor already. Breaking into a light jog to catch up, I shoved the makeshift weapon behind the armor plate on my back. It bit uncomfortably into my skin, but I didn't want the base full of mercs with guns to see it and think I was trying to attack them. Harrison turned back to look at me, gesturing frantically down the hallway. I was still struggling to match his pace.

As we walked back across the main part of the base, I noticed that the booming sound was much louder, though I still couldn't identify the source. With how much it echoed, it sounded like the whole complex was beating like a heart. Between thumps, I could also make out the sound of rushing water. Probably a broken pipe, though I couldn't be sure without seeing the source for myself.

We were only about halfway down the hall when Harrison stopped abruptly, yanked open a door, and pushed me inside. I stumbled slightly and went to snap at him, before I froze in place.

The room wasn't empty. My eye was drawn almost immediately toward a pile of unmarked crates that was stacked against the wall. One of Coil's mercenaries was leaning against them, holding some kind of pistol in his hand.

"Pitter? What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Harrison demanded.

"This room is well-reinforced," the man who was apparently named Pitter replied. Harrison made a frustrated noise, somewhere between a grunt and a growl. I glanced curiously at him, and noticed that he looked... concerned. He usually kept up an air of unflappability around me. I glanced around the room, wondering what was bothering him so much, before I spotted her.

Hunched in the corner, there was a little girl that couldn't have been older than thirteen, shaking slightly and staring at me. I froze, looking her up and down, a cold feeling settling in my gut. She was wearing a pale nightgown, frayed near the hem where she kept twisting it between her fingers, and her skin was waxy. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, flicking rapidly between me and the two men in the room.

Harrison inhaled sharply, apparently noticing her at the same time I did. "I see," he said, turning to Pitter. "You would have wanted to protect your daughter." Pitter's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded. He looked nothing like the little girl.

"What's your name?" I asked. She turned to stare at me, wide-eyed.

"Pet," she replied. My mind ground to a halt. _She can't be more than twelve._ Slowly, as if I were moving through molasses, I turned to look at Harrison.

"Taylor..." he said, his voice low, placating. "I can see that you're upset."

 _So you do know my name_. I clenched a fist, and my other hand drifted to the small of my back.

"This isn't the time. We can settle this later, but _not_ during an Endbringer fight. There's an unspoken truce between capes, whenever the whole city is—"

"No," I said, quietly. Harrison fidgeted in place, obviously anxious. He didn't know how to deal with this, I could tell even through his mask. His normally cool demeanor was crumbling, his voice trembling slightly.

"Stand down," the man named Pitter ordered. He was calmer, it seemed. Either he didn't know what I could do with my armor, or he was a parahuman himself. I couldn't tell either way, though if he were the little girl's handler then it was a serious possibility.

"Pitter, go and find Coil," Harrison snapped. The man nodded, and slipped out the door. I let him—if he were a threat, I was sure Harrison would have wanted his protection.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, I reached up and drew the soldering iron. Flicking the on switch, I stood in place, waiting for Harrison to move. The longer he delayed, the hotter the iron would get.

"Think about this for a moment," he chided. "Coil won't be pleased."

I tightened my grip on my improvised weapon, and stayed silent.

"He's a parahuman. Even I have no idea what his power is, but I know that—"

"I don't care," I muttered, and was almost surprised to realize I meant it.

Harrison crossed his arms over his chest. "And what about your father?" I flinched, taking a rapid step back. The little girl was still looking at me, unblinking. "Give me the iron," he continued, "This doesn't need to end in violence."

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking shallow breaths between clenched teeth. Harrison couldn't see my face through the mask, and for that I was grateful. _Can I risk dad?_ I opened my eyes again, and glanced at the little girl. She wasn't even trying to escape—instead she just stood there, _staring_ at me.

"Fuck this," I decided. "Fuck you, and fuck Coil."

"Taylor—"

 _"Shut up!"_ I hadn't really meant to shout, but I couldn't help but grin at the way he stumbled backwards in shock.

The iron was still in my hand, and I advanced on him, holding it out in front of me like a sword. It was barely six inches long, but the tip was so hot that I could see the air around it shimmering.

"L-listen," Harrison said. He was pleading now, raising his hands as if to show me that he was unarmed. As if I didn't know that the armor he was wearing was a weapon. "I didn't want to work for Coil, any more than you did. He's not the kind of man you can say no to."

"Did you know?" I demanded. "Did you know he was keeping a little _kid_ down here?!"

"No! Pitter told me she was his daughter," he insisted _._ He sounded so sincere...

"You're a good actor," I told him.

"I'm telling the truth, Taylor!"

I snarled and lunged at him, slashing at his throat with the iron. He dodged, but clumsily—he never did get the hang of moving around in his armor. I still managed to leave a long, thin scratch across his helmet.

Harrison backed away, trying to keep some distance between us. I sprinted forward, covering ground faster than he could without turning his back on me, and pressed the attack. My iron slashed up, down, left, then jabbed viciously at his chest. He blocked each blow, knocking my hands away clumsily with his one gauntlet and constantly retreating.

Then, I spotted an opening. His right hand drifted too far out, leaving his hip exposed. I lunged, but he was expecting it. The arm snapped back down, clamping my hand to his side and forcing me to stumble toward him. His gauntlet closed over my forearm, and I realized with a sudden shock that he was stronger than me. Of course he was—we were wearing the same armor, but he was decades older and at had at least a hundred pounds on me, much of it muscle.

"Let go!" I snarled, yanking as hard as I could in a vain attempt to break the hold. Frustrated, I twisted my trapped wrist so that the iron was resting against his back. Wisps of smoke rose from the contact, and I let loose a feral smile that he couldn't see.

He didn't let go, though. Instead he grabbed my other wrist, pinning both my arms in place, and slammed his helmet into mine. I reeled, more out of shock than pain, and he seized the opportunity to try and wrest the iron from my grip.

I stomped down on his toes, as hard as I could, but was met only by the clash of metal on metal. Grunting with exertion, I squirmed in his grip until I gained a little leverage, then smashed an elbow into his stomach, right where Aegis had hit me before. He doubled over, gasping, and I pulled both arms free of his grasp. Before he could try to grapple me again, I brought the iron down in a vicious slash.

It impacted at his shoulder, and I pushed down until the finger guard slammed into the armor plating, turning the metal around it cherry red. Harrison cried out, and bashed his fist into my visor. Whatever it was made of, it didn't crack. Still, my head thudded painfully against the padding at the front of my helmet, and I struggled to regain my bearings.

Taking advantage of the opening, Harrison took hold of my shoulder and shoved me headfirst into one of the crates. It shattered, wood splinters snagging in the mesh that protected my joints. About a dozen smaller boxes scattered in every direction, while I crashed into the wall and slid into a heap on the floor.

"It's not too late to stop," Harrison said, advancing cautiously toward me. I tensed, then sprang to my feet, pushing off of the wall with one hand and slamming the other into his head. At least, I would have if he hadn't slid to the side, catching my fist in his right hand and gripping it tightly. I growled, yanking backwards. He held on, but was overbalanced slightly, lurching to the side in an attempt to keep himself upright. I seized the opportunity, kicking at his knees and pulling him further off balance.

We toppled over, smashing into another crate. I managed to roll to the side, pinning one of his arms under my knee and slamming my free hand into the burning hole I'd made in his shoulder plate.

He grunted in pain, then tried headbutting me again. I jerked back and out of the way, wincing as he yanked on my trapped arm.

I strained against his grip, struggling to twist the iron around like I had before. He pushed it away from him, fighting to keep me from melting his armor again. A small trickle of blood had welled up in the puncture wound, beading and leaving a red trail down the curve of his shoulder.

For a moment, we were at an impasse. I couldn't push the iron close enough to do any significant damage, and Harrison couldn't take it away from me while I was pinning his arm.

Then he bucked violently, throwing me to the side. He managed to pull his arm out from under me, but his grip loosened just a fraction. I threw myself backward and leaned my full weight on the hand with the iron, placing a foot on his chest. He grabbed it, pushing it away from him in an attempt to tip me over. Gripping my weapon tightly, I kicked off his breastplate and propelled myself backward. My hand slipped from his grasp, and I came crashing to the floor, my head slamming full force against the concrete.

Thankful once again for the padding in my helmet, I rolled sideways and came up on one knee, keeping the soldering iron between me and Harrison. He eyed me warily, staying a few feet away as he circled around me. _Good. No more wrestling._

I got to my feet and paused, waiting for an opportunity. And just as he tried to step over the splintered remains of one of the smashed crates, I threw myself at him. He tried to stumble away, but his heels hooked on a larger piece of wooden debris and sent him reeling. I bulled into him, swinging the iron right at his chest. He blocked with one hand, but my sudden assault nearly knocked him over. Overbalanced and clumsy as it was, he stumbled a few steps backwards and crashed into the wall.

While he tried to recover, I slid forward, throwing a wild punch at his face. He just barely managed to block the blow with his left arm, crying out in pain as it impacted his unprotected hand. He didn't even see the soldering iron.

I jabbed it through the mesh at his armpit where his armor was thinnest. It had been a decision I'd agonized over—whether to put heavier padding under the arms, where there were internal organs to protect, or to use the same material that covered the elbows and knees, offering more freedom of movement. Unlike the shoulder plate, which had offered some resistance while the iron melted through it, the netting parted almost like butter. The soldering iron sank in to the handle, meaning that all six inches of red-hot metal had been embedded in his side, right between his ribs.

Harrison crumpled. The iron had gotten lodged in his chest, and the force of his collapse yanked it out of my hand. I stood over him, staring blankly down at his silver helmet.

Slowly, warily, I reached down and unplugged the control module at the back of his neck. He didn't flinch. Nor did he move a muscle when I reached forward and tugged the iron out of his side, slick with blood.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the sight, rocking slightly back and forth and holding the soldering iron like an anchor. For a moment, I considered opening his visor, to check if he was... still alive, somehow. My trembling hand hovered over the hidden latch, before I grimaced and turned away.

My gaze landed immediately on the corner of the room, right by the door. The little girl was sitting cross-legged, hunched into herself and still twisting at the hem of her nightgown. I crouched down in front of her, wincing as she shrank away from me.

Sliding open my visor, I looked her in the eye and made my best attempt at a smile.

"Let's go," I said, voice cracking.


	17. Interlude: He Could Fix This

Thomas shuffled into his kitchen with a low groan and went straight for the kettle, wincing as he massaged his aching temple. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, though he supposed there were worse ways to cope with stress.

His meeting with the Undersiders had gone well, better than expected even. None of them had seemed inclined to cut and run after seeing his pet, though Grue had looked distinctly uncomfortable. Still, he hadn't been completely sure of their loyalty—that was the point of showing them one of his secrets, after all—and the whole affair had been nerve-wracking.

In the other timeline, he still had to figure out why his pet's numbers had changed so drastically. So as the water began boiling, he selected a bag of chamomile tea from of a box on the counter and placed it in an empty mug.

Once the tea was steeped to his satisfaction, he fished out the bag and stirred in a spoonful of honey. Then he blew gently on the hot drink, and took a tentative sip.

Warmth bloomed in his core, and he hummed in satisfaction. His other self might be stiff and sore and with a headache coming on, but as long as he had one timeline of relaxation, he decided that he didn't much care.

Thomas took another larger gulp, just as the air raid siren went off. He choked, spitting tea all over his floor. Dropping the mug as well, he grabbed the remote off the island and flicked on the small television he kept in his kitchen. It was, as he had feared, displaying evacuation routes and the locations of the nearest shelters.

 _"Fuck!"_ he shouted, in an uncharacteristic display of pure emotion. Was this what had changed the numbers so much?

* * *

In the other timeline, the alarms in his base began to blare. His pet cried out in fear, but he gripped her wrist firmly.

"What are the chances that I am killed or seriously injured, if I don't use my power?"

"You said four questions," she complained. "That's five."

 _"Answer me,"_ he hissed.

She cringed, then replied, "Eighty-three point four five three—"

"Good," Coil interrupted. "And if I do use my power?"

"Seventy-six point six six nine," she said. "It _hurts."_

Coil scowled. "That will be all, pet. Follow Mr. Pitter, now." He turned to the man in question, and barked, "Take her to the armory, it's well reinforced."

He'd planned on having specific rooms to serve as bunkers, but one had yet to be properly reinforced and the other had a floor of still-drying concrete. His office was another of these rooms, but there wasn't much difference in safety between it and the armory anyway, and his walking in and out of the room in order to get status reports from his soldiers would probably make his pet anxious.

Pitter and Dinah retreated from the room without protest, and Coil was soon hunched over his desk, calling some of his more important underlings to make sure the base was secured. Everyone already knew what they ought to be doing, but in a situation like this his frayed nerves demanded that he check.

As soon as he was satisfied, he sprang from his chair and into the hallway, walking with purpose but not running. He lifted his foot to take another step—

 _Boom._

Coil froze. A low, hollow _thrum_ began vibrating through the walls around him, reverberating so much that it was impossible to tell where it came from.

* * *

As he fumbled with his car keys, Thomas began swearing. There were only two living things in Brockton Bay that could make a noise like that. Either Leviathan was quite literally pounding on his front door, or _worse,_ Noelle was trying to escape. He was suddenly faced with the uncomfortable possibility that he might be caught between two separate S-Class threats.

Thomas sighed, and forced himself to relax. Even if she did escape, the situation wouldn't be unsalvageable. His civilian identity would be safe and sound in an Endbringer shelter, as soon as he could get his _damn_ keys to stop shaking for a moment.

Finally, he smashed the unlock button and ripped open the drivers' side door. Putting the car into gear, and almost snapping the gearshift in two while he was at it, he skidded out of his driveway and down the road.

The streets were already packed with cars, though the traffic was moving briskly. Crowds of people were swarming along either sidewalk, and Thomas was momentarily struck by the image of an entire street filled with people, all moving in the same direction.

Of course, with that many cars jammed so tightly together, it was only a matter of time before the road became clogged and congested. When it became clear that further progress would be impossible, he shifted the car into park and tugged open the door. Other drivers honked and cursed at him, but he ignored them.

He supposed there existed the possibility that he would be recognized, and driving to an Endbringer shelter was against PRT protocol. But it was unlikely he would keep this timeline anyway, it existed purely as a backup in case his base was overrun. So Thomas weathered the insults and obscene gestures with grace, and soon assimilated into the herd of civilians walking toward the nearest shelter. It probably wasn't far, now.

* * *

Meanwhile, in his base, Coil was beginning to sweat. He'd followed up on the strange noise by phoning the woman in charge of guarding Noelle, even as he strode in the direction of her vault. He'd been informed, somewhat colorfully, that the girl had been spooked by the incoming attack and was now thrashing in her vault, attempting to break down the door.

Fists clenching, he ended the call and brought up Trickster's contact information. He paused, considering. The Travelers had decided amongst themselves to participate in Endbringer battles, and would probably already be fighting by now. He called anyway, and got no response. Either he hadn't brought his cell and had used the high-tech armbands provided, or it had been destroyed during the battle. Coil stuffed the phone back in his pocket, and began striding in the direction of his rogue charge.

As the crashing sounds grew louder, he threw dignity to the wind and sprinted through the corridors, reaching the massive door in less than a minute. It shuddered with every titanic blow, and the noise it made was almost overwhelming. He wasn't sure that Noelle could hear him over the din, or if she would understand him if she did, but he hazarded a try anyway.

Coil really would've liked to have been working on this in both timelines, to give himself some margin of error... but he vastly preferred having the option of being far, far away from her if this should go sour. Instead, he decided to try and imitate the way Trickster dealt with her as best he could, and hope the door held.

"Noelle," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, "This is Coil, can you hear me?"

There was no response.

"We need you to calm down," he continued, louder this time. The banging stopped for a moment, and Coil held his breath.

"What's going on?" she asked in a thin, frightened voice. Coil grimaced. He wanted to split the timeline, badly. It had been a while since he'd needed to come at a conversation this important from only one angle, and he couldn't be sure what Noelle would do if he told her the truth, that Leviathan had hit the city. He decided to take the safer option and offer her a comforting lie, though it had to be one that allowed for the ongoing alarms.

"There's been a small fire in one of the back rooms. No need to worry, it's perfectly contained."

The banging stopped for a moment, and Coil allowed himself a few deep breaths to steady his heart rate.

And then there was another crash, and a howl of rage from within the vault. "There's _water_ in here!" she shrieked, and the vault door juddered in its frame. Coil could _feel_ his skin turning white.

"Noelle, I need you to stop hitting the door."

 _"No!"_ A screech of tearing metal—she must have been clawing at the other side. He hissed in a breath, then turned to the mercenaries standing around the vault.

"There's no point gawking," Coil snarled. "Get to your positions. And you—" he pointed at the nearest soldier, a rather burly-looking woman with a laser rifle in her left hand, as if she could shoot Leviathan if he decided to get into the base. "Find Kane, tell him to get his ass over here." She nodded, and the various grunts in the main hall dispersed like a wave of gigantic ants.

Coil scowled. He didn't normally swear in front of his troops, it made it harder to appear professional, but he hadn't quite been able to catch that one. Still, Kane ought to already be at the vault, in case of just such an emergency. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to _do_ anything, but he could at least judge whether the door would hold, or if the base needed to be evacuated.

Perhaps he should summon Pitter and his pet. Knowing the odds of a catastrophic failure would be nice.

He'd barely even touched his phone when Kane came barreling down one of the catwalks, then tumbled down the stairs three at a time.

"Boss," he gasped, out of breath despite his impressive physical conditioning. "There's a leak a level above us. A bad one, too. I'm not sure where all the water's coming from, but at this rate the base is going to flood."

Coil was silent. Then, he took a steadying breath and said, "Take me there."

* * *

Deep within an Endbringer shelter just a few blocks away, Thomas began muttering curses under his breath. One disaster after another, and he wasn't sure he could contain all of it. There was a good chance he would lose the base, and rebuilding could set him back years.

Still, _he_ would be safe. He'd gotten to the shelter before the creature had actually arrived, and was now in one of most secure buildings in the city. As long as he was alive, he could rebuild. Any setback was only temporary.

Breathing carefully though his nose, he jumped slightly as his work phone went off. Picking his way through the crowds of anxious civilians and descending to the lower level, he found a slightly more private corner and picked up.

"Boss," Kane said immediately, under too much stress to bother with a preamble, "There's a leak in the base, a big one, and Noelle—"

"I've already been informed," he replied smoothly, making a conscious effort not to sound too impatient. There was no point being rude, since it was looking more and more like he would need to keep this timeline. "Get everyone you can plugging the leaks." In the other timeline, he relayed similar orders in person.

"What about Noelle?" Kane asked, and Thomas felt the beginnings of another headache stir behind his left eye.

"Will the door hold up?"

"Not for long," the engineer replied, grudgingly. "I don't know what we'll do if she gets loose. This whole place could come down."

"I understand. Have someone she knows try and calm her down." He frowned. "I can't get a hold of her friends, but she knows Lee fairly well, correct? See if he can talk to her, and if that doesn't work... Make your best estimate of how long we have, and get everyone out ten minutes before that."

"They're still fighting Leviathan up there," Kane protested.

"They are. And would you rather be in an open city with him, or locked in a bunker with her?" The engineer was silent for a long moment.

"That's settled then," Thomas said finally. "I hope it doesn't come to that. With any luck the door will hold until he leaves."

"It won't," Kane told him. There was no doubt in his voice—only the resigned certainty of a man just finishing his last meal.

He ended the conversation in both timelines, at almost the same time. And in both timelines, it began ringing again almost immediately. Grimacing, he ignored the call in his civilian identity, as the 'private' nook he'd found was still teeming with people and hardly a suitable place to be having sensitive conversations.

As Coil, he glanced at the caller id and picked up immediately, leaving Kane to his work. Mr. Pitter began speaking almost instantly, sounding outright panicked for the first time in years.

"Dinah and I ran into the tinker girl," he said.

Coil's eye twitched. He hadn't planned for that to happen—Harrison had warned him against it—but it hadn't been a particular concern. His pet almost never left her room, and when she did, it was easy to ensure that the tinker was safely locked up. But in the sudden chaos of the attack, and the situation with Noelle, it had almost completely slipped his mind that Harrison would also have known that the armory was one of the safest rooms in the base.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"When I left, she was gearing up to fight Harrison. They were both in the suits, as well."

Coil rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd have to call Harrison up to his office once all this was over—he was going to need the stress relief. "What about Dinah?"

"Still there when I left. I thought it would be better to tell you as soon as possible."

There was silence over the phone.

"Sir?"

"Where are you, exactly?"

"East side, second level. Not too far from her room."

"Good." Coil paused, and decided that he may as well take a risk—between Noelle, Leviathan, and the tinker, it would be an absolute miracle if this was the timeline he kept. "I'll meet you there," he decided, "Round up anyone you can find and tell them to get to the armory, and to keep an eye out on the way."

"Understood."

The conversation ended with a click, and Coil began jogging toward the armory. It was close, at least—just up the stairs and along one catwalk, around a slight bend and two doors down. Still, it was far enough to make him nervous, since Noelle was still thrashing around in her prison and the base was apparently flooding. Dealing with renegade subordinates was _not_ something he could afford at the moment, but he needed to get to his pet.

Silently, he cursed the idiot tinker. He hadn't thought much about the girl, once he'd determined that she couldn't augment his pet's usefulness. In fact, he'd been perfectly content handing her off to Harrison, and occasionally sending them on errands he knew the Travelers or Undersiders would never agree to.

Indeed, until now he hadn't particularly cared if they lived or died. Harrison was replaceable, one of hundreds of manipulators, and the tinker was useless to him if she couldn't mass-produce her armor. But this kind of hiccup during an emergency was not something he could let slide. The girl had to die—he still hadn't made up his mind about Harrison.

Drawing the pistol on his hip, he crept cautiously down the hallway the armory was in. He decided that he wouldn't approach the door—no sense risking himself. But he could stay nearby, and wait for the mercenaries to arrive. Harrison probably had the situation well in hand, he was wearing the same armor after all, and he'd been told that the tinker wanted to be a hero, she would likely hesitate to kill or seriously injure them. Besides, she was far less dangerous than Noelle.

He was just passing a closet about twenty feet from the armory door. He stopped, knowing that getting any closer could be dangerous. A hand reached into his pocket, drawing his phone and dialing Mr. Pitter.

"I'm close," the man replied, without prompting. "Just give me a few minutes, I've seen what one of those suits can do and I don't want to take chances."

"Of course," Coil said, slightly irked by his subordinate acting as if he were the one giving orders. He didn't say as much, of course. It was a sensible thing to do, and to bring it up in such a crisis was just petty.

* * *

Thomas was sitting on the main level of the shelter, hands clasped in his lap. He could still salvage this. It was like a mantra at this point, that no matter how much went wrong, as long as he was alive he could always rebuild. He glanced at his phone, but decided that there wasn't much else he needed his soldiers to do. Making sensitive calls in such a public location should be avoided as much as possible, even if he kept his side of the conversation innocuous.

An old man sitting next to him began coughing, making an awful wet sound at the back of his throat. Thomas edged away slightly, and the young woman on his left graciously made room for him. He nodded at her in thanks, then returned his attention to his rapidly disintegrating other timeline—for about half a second, until a low rumble began shaking dust from the shelter ceiling. All conversation in the room died, replaced by a few tremulous queries.

The near silence evaporated, as the rumble increased in volume. Through the metal mesh that made up the floor of the second level, Thomas could see one corner of the ceiling begin to darken ominously. He leapt to his feet, joining the sudden press of people scrambling away from the wall as it split apart with a thunderous _crack_. Water sprayed from the gap, trickling down the side of the room in sheets and pooling on the ground.

Concrete shrapnel followed, raining down on the unfortunate souls who had been seated nearby on the top floor.

Thomas heard the considerate woman scream, joining in the cacophony of wails that echoed through the small space. He gritted his teeth, scanning the room for options. Another rumble shook the room, and something struck the massive vault door with a hollow metallic _boom._ For an instant, he noted deliriously that it sounded almost exactly the same as when Noelle smashed against her self-imposed prison.

And then, as if in a fever dream, the door caved, creaking in its housing until it buckled inward. It was barely an inch, but water had already begun pouring through the gap. There were more shrieks, but Thomas ignored them. Instead he dove for one of the stairwells, making his way to the second level and putting distance between him and the growing puddle of water on the ground.

The steady stream creeping in through the partially open door was already on its way down to him. Back near the door, one of the civilians closest to it had begun pounding on the solid metal, crying out for help. A few good Samaritans had already begun tending to the wounded, leading them to the thankfully not-yet-flooded first-aid area on the top level. Another group had taken the initiative and begun searching for sandbags to cover the gaping hole in the wall, though Thomas somewhat doubted they would be very successful.

For the majority of people trapped in the press of inactive bystanders, there passed several minutes of agonized waiting, as the whole shelter seemed to contract toward the door. It resisted all attempts to budge it open, and soon the water level at the bottom of the shelter had risen to nearly knee height.

"Hello?" a deep voice said at last, from outside the door. "Is everyone alright in there?"

"Some injured," replied one woman near the front, in chorus with several others.

"We need to get you out of there," the hero—or possibly villain—declared. Thomas was tempted to be annoyed at him for stating the obvious, but ignored the impulse. It was vital that he escape, his base was getting more and more dangerous by the second and without the other cape his chances of survival would plummet.

Or, well, more accurately it would take a small dip. It turned out that the mystery cape was not blessed with super strength, flight, or teleportation, or anything useful in their current situation for that matter. He did call for assistance, but water was already beginning to rise over the waists of the people on the lower level.

The true cavalry did eventually arrive, if the sound of small explosions was any indicator. One of them was shooting at _something_ outside, though he had no idea what it was. Another helpfully began digging small channels into the sides of the stairwell, so that at least the water wasn't flowing through the crowd.

Still, progress was slow. They managed to pry the door open another inch, but all that really did was increase the flow of water into the shelter. People with young children on the bottom level had been forced to deposit them on their shoulders, and a few women on the shorter side were already up to their necks.

"Hurry up!" someone shouted, and Thomas rolled his eyes. All _that_ would accomplish was irritating the people trying to help them, something a wise man never did. It didn't stop him from wanting to echo the sentiment.

At last, the growing group of fliers budged the door open far enough to begin letting people through single file. Thomas scowled—there was no way they'd be able to get the throngs blocking the door out fast enough. Some of the ones at the bottom would drown.

A few who had noticed this were already surging toward the stairwell, pushing and shoving at one another. There were also several hanging back, appearing at first glance to be making an impressive self-sacrifice, though he was certain that they were all strong swimmers.

Another rumble shook the building, and Thomas found himself wondering which part of the structure would collapse next. When he got out of this, he would find out who designed this building and flay them alive.

Then the fliers started shouting. Thomas froze, as a slow, cold feeling slid down his spine. The shouts turned to screams, then to the sounds of lasers being fired, and then to a sickening silence.

The water began flowing more quickly, blasting a few people off their feet and knocking them into the rows behind them. They were steadied, helped to their feet—and crushed into a red smear as the vault door crumpled off its weakened hinges. Standing in the massive doorway, head tilted as if to sniff the air with a nose he didn't have, was Leviathan.

Thomas stared, trying numbly to process what had just happened. Someone screamed, the silence shattered and the whole shelter shuddered with frightened howling, as the monster swiped his tail almost contemptuously, slaughtering half a dozen civilians like he might crush a few ants.

He and everyone around him began pushing and shoving toward the stairwell, as the crowd sought the relative safety of the growing pool on the lower level. The creature moved faster than he would have believed, rushing through the building and sending devastating blasts of water flying into the press of people with every movement.

Finally he was close enough to vault the railing, diving into the water and landing painfully on the backs of several burly-looking men. They cursed him when he landed, pushing them off their feet and into the water. One of them grabbed him by the shirt, but he didn't care—being beaten was better than being dead.

Others were already following his example, creating a living rain of people in the area nearest the stairs. The first level was empty now, except for the dead. Thomas could just make out bright lights, probably some kind of blaster power, smashing into Leviathan's back. The monster paid them no mind, choosing instead to move further into the shelter.

The metal floor beneath him creaked and groaned, and he leaned his misshapen head into the stairwell, turning to regard the panicked and soaking people on the lower floor. He wouldn't fit through the opening in the metal floor, but Thomas fully expected him to break it open. Instead, he just sat there, water pouring off his skin in sheets.

 _He's going to drown us,_ Thomas realized. There was no other way up, it was a small shelter and it was never meant to have one of the monsters _inside_ it. He was going to die.

With an angry snarl, he collapsed the timeline.

* * *

Coil was back in his base, gasping at the suddenness of the attack. He split the timeline, mind searching desperately for some other way to salvage his situation. As long as he was alive, he could fix this. He just needed to distance the two timelines as much as possible, maybe take another crack at getting Noelle to settle down.

But before he could so much as blink, the closet door burst open with a crash that must have dented the wall. Coil reeled, seeing only a bright blue blur as it slammed into his chest. The air rushed from his lungs, he hurtled through the air—and for perhaps the first time since he'd gotten his power, Thomas Calvert feared for his life.


	18. I Refuse to Accept That

"I wanted to ask," I said, reaching down to help the little girl to her feet. "What's your name? Your real one, I mean." She tilted her head to peer up at me, still clinging to my hand.

"Dinah," she said, so quietly that I almost thought I'd imagined it.

"I'm Taylor," I told her. It felt odd, introducing myself to someone while wearing my costume.

"We need to go," Dinah said anxiously. "The numbers are bad if we stay here."

"Numbers?"

Dinah ignored me, instead tugging ineffectually on my arm in an attempt to pull me toward the door. I barely even felt it, but started walking anyway.

"What do you mean by numbers," I tried again, as we made our way out into the hall.

Dinah frowned, brow furrowing. It should have been adorable, but it only seemed to accentuate how gaunt she looked, her red eyes and twitchy hands. Her nightgown was starting to fray at the edges where she kept twisting it.

"They... they're like a mosaic of moments," she told me. "And when someone asks a question, they rearrange themselves and I can sense a number." Suddenly she stopped, and pointed at a door a few yards down the hallway. "Our chances are better in there."

"You... see the future?" I guessed.

Her feet shuffled as she nodded. "We need to go in, now."

"Okay." I opened the door for her, and looked skeptically at the assortment of mops and cleaning supplies within.

"A janitor's closet? Really?"

"The numbers are better if we remain here," Dinah insisted.

"Okay, but... what _are_ the numbers, exactly?"

"Twenty-three point one four six six nine five percent chance that we escape. But you have to kill Coil."

"What?!" I half-shouted. Dinah shrank away, and I winced. "Sorry. But, could you explain that please?"

She frowned again, clearly frustrated, but answered anyway. "Ninety-two point four three eight six percent chance that we die or are recaptured within the next month if Coil is still alive when we leave here."

When she put it that way, the choice was easy. "I'll do it," I told her. "But I don't know where he is. Can you tell me?"

She shook her head. "I only see the numbers. Looking too hard at a specific moment hurts. The mosaic gets tangled and then I have to piece it back together."

"Dinah..." I said hesitantly, "What are the chances that we kill Coil and get out of here alive?"

She was silent for a moment. "Four point two five nine one." I grimaced, wishing I hadn't been right.

"I'm so sorry, but... could you look at what happens if we do succeed? Just once, then you don't have to do anything else."

"It _hurts,"_ Dinah repeated, grabbing her head in her hands. "Sometimes for weeks, before I can sort it out again. It all turns into a big mess and my head hurts the whole time, and..." she trailed off, scrunching herself into the corner and hiding her face in her hands. A lone mop fell to the floor with a clatter.

"You—" I stopped, swallowed to try and clear my throat. "You don't have to. But if you don't... Coil will find us."

"He'll kill you," she said miserably. "If you don't get him first. There are barely any realities where you both live. But he won't hurt me, not if he can avoid it. He'll just take me back and give me more candy, and if I do what he says it doesn't hurt so much."

I swallowed. "I know it's asking a lot, but... isn't it better to hurt than to be dependant on him?"

"No. As long as I answer every question. If I make him mad..." Dinah trailed off, eyes glazing over. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I bit down hard on my lower lip.

"What happens?" I asked, trying to put as much tenderness into my voice as I could. It had been a while since I'd needed to talk to anyone like that.

"He won't give me candy," she said shakily. "And I can always see it coming, and every moment it gets closer and closer, and it fills more and more realities with sickness and headaches and that makes me feel even worse."

He fed her drugs and made her call it candy. Anger boiled up in my gut, but I forced it down. There'd be time for that later, when I had a gauntlet wrapped around his bony neck.

"I can see it coming now," Dinah went on, hunching her shoulders. "If I leave here, I have to go through it."

"We could find a doctor, or a healer, or _someone._ Panacea lives here, and I think she's helped addicts before."

"No," she said, sounding very small. "If it doesn't hurt, I'll probably relapse. I've run the numbers before."

"Well," I managed, still chewing on my lip. "We can... we can figure something out afterward. Make you as comfortable as we can, at least. Do—do you have parents waiting for you?"

"Yes."

"I'll get you back to them. I _swear,_ okay?"

"Five point eight eight one percent chance I see my parents again." There was something _haunted_ in the look she gave me, in the way she said it—tonelessly, helplessly, and with crushing certainty.

"I refuse to accept that," I said, letting my tone turn steely. "We are getting out of here, we are killing that _motherfucker,_ and we are both going home. Okay?"

"The numbers—"

"The numbers would change if you looked, right?"

"Yes." Her voice had dropped to a whisper now, barely audible above the distant hollow _clanging_ that still echoed through the base.

"You don't have to. We can take our chances doing it the normal way, or try to figure out as much as we can with percentages. I'm just not sure we can do it. Coil has too much in his favor, and he has to know something's going on by now. But if you decide to try... I'll be there, okay? I can take care of the rest, and I'll bring you back to your parents. So... will you try?"

Dinah's breath hitched, but she nodded into the wall. Slowly, she turned so that she could lean against a gathering of brooms and mops, and closed her eyes.

I don't know what I was expecting, but whatever it was flew right out of my head the second she started to shake. I'd never seen someone have a seizure before, but I thought this must be what it was like. Her face twisted, her fists began clenching and unclenching, and she trembled and jerked uncontrollably. I stepped forward, planning on doing... something. As I approached, she whimpered, swayed in place, and threw up all over my armor.

Surprised, I almost backed away—but her knees were buckling, so instead I reached out to steady her. Carefully, so as not to jostle her more than I needed to, I eased her into a sitting position, leaving my hand at the nape of her neck to support her head.

Watching her stiffen and contort, wracked with tremors as she searched for the answer I'd asked for, I almost wished I'd just played nice with Harrison. That I'd sat in the armory, waited for the alert to be over, and gone back to doing Coil's dirty work.

Then, as the shaking began to slow down, Dinah muttered under her breath, "Candy."

 _I refuse to accept this._

"I'm going to take you home," I promised again, though I was fairly sure she couldn't hear me.

Eventually, her eyes fluttered open. "Are you alright?" I asked, then cringed. She wasn't alright, _obviously._

"I saw..." she mumbled, brow furrowing. "You waited, I think. I could see his feet under the door but you weren't moving."

"That's all?" I asked, before I could stop myself. Dinah looked like she was going to cry.

"Sorry. I only meant... do you know when I have to go through the door? Or if I should keep it closed?"

"You opened it eventually," she replied. "I don't know why. I just saw light."

I thought about saying thank you, but it seemed like such a hollow gesture, dwarfed completely by the memory of a little girl writhing in pain.

"I'll get you out of here," I said instead. "I swear."

She nodded weakly and lay down on the floor, staring blearily at the crack under the door. After a moment I did the same, seating myself on the closet floor and willing myself to stay alert. It got harder and harder as time passed and the adrenaline began leaving my system. All that I could see was the glow of light filtering in from the hallway, and the gray outlines of buckets and feather-dusters and brooms, looming out of the darkness.

Time passed agonizingly slowly, as I heard the occasional footsteps and froze, only to realize that they were the heavy treads of mercenaries. Every now and then, Dinah would squeak or whine in pain. And every time I turned to look I found her curled up on her side, facing the wall.

Then, in between backward glances, I heard a light _tap_ of soft soles on metal. They came from somewhere to our left, heading along a catwalk or some stairs if the sound was anything to go by. I listened on, barely breathing, as the footsteps changed tone. Coil must've reached the concrete floor of the hallway, now. My whole body tensed, but I forced myself to stay motionless. The uncertainty of it was agonizing—I didn't know why, but apparently timing was tantamount here, and I had no idea what I was supposed to be waiting for in the first place.

The quiet footsteps stopped a few feet away, just past the door. I turned my head to glance at Dinah, and saw that she was still hunched in the farthest corner of the closet, clutching her head and shaking. Biting my lip to keep myself silent, I turned away. _Not now._

Seconds crawled by as Coil stood motionless in the hallway, apparently in no rush to go anywhere. I forced myself to keep my breathing deep and silent, and prayed that Dinah's tiny whimpers didn't sound so loud on the other side of the door. And then, agonizingly slowly, I shifted in place, getting my feet under me and rising to a crouch. He gave no indication that he'd heard me.

I rose to my full height and stood, frozen, unsure of what I was waiting for—until it happened. Outside, Coil stumbled, gasping aloud and taking a step back. It sounded almost as if he was in pain, though I hadn't heard any kind of impact. His shadow reappeared in the crack under the door. _Now,_ I thought, and in one fluid motion I twisted the knob and _exploded_ from my hiding place. The door slammed into the wall beside it with a bang, and Dinah groaned from her hiding spot in the closet.

Coil started to turn, his featureless mask betraying no surprise. His small cry of pain and fear said otherwise. Snarling, I flew straight at his face with the iron. It was still flecked with dried blood, and plunged with little resistance into Coil's costume after barely an instant's hesitation. But even in that one instant, he had already started moving.

I missed the neck, but managed to take him in the shoulder, ripping a bloody hole in his upper bicep. He shoved me, and though I barely felt it, he himself went careening backwards. The iron slid out of his arm with a low _hiss,_ and he yelped in pain. I was suddenly reminded of my fight with Lung, of how _human_ his cry of rage had sounded, even as he grew into a flaming monster.

"Wait!" he shouted. "We don't have to do this, we can negotiate!"

Reaching out, I tried to grab him, but he managed to dodge my arm and throw himself back the way he'd come, stumbling in his panic. In my suit, I was faster than he could ever hope to be. I caught up with ease and slashed at his back with the iron, tearing a long burning rent from left to right despite his attempt to duck.

Coil cried out again, but kept going. Just as I was about to catch him again, he flung himself down a flight of stairs and sprinted across the room towards a handful of mercenaries. They were only just beginning to react to the sight of their boss, being chased through his own base.

"Noelle!" he shouted, "Help me!"

For an instant, I was baffled. Who was Noelle?

And then, the air shook with another long, hollow, _boom_. It was like being on the inside of a drum, as the massive vault door at the opposite end of the room visibly distended, bulging outward as something hit it with the force of a runaway train.

The sound shocked me out of my thoughts. Maybe one of the mercenaries was named Noelle, or maybe not. It didn't matter.

 _If he lives, I die._ Heedless of the danger I jumped down after him, landing in a crouch and springing back into motion. A bullet pinged harmlessly off my helmet, another hit the mesh at my elbow, making me wince. And then I was close enough to pounce on him, grabbing his costume in my free hand and swinging down with the iron. It hit him in the lower back, and he jerked in my grip. The mercenaries stopped shooting, too afraid of hitting their boss instead. They were rushing toward us, but there was no way they could arrive in time.

"Taylor," he sputtered, a far cry from the cool and collected Bond villain he liked to portray. "Listen to me, I will let you both go if you just—" This was much more along the lines I'd expected from him. Bargaining and threats, all with his trademark sliminess.

I punched the iron through his back, and the rest of his sentence devolved into a fit of wet-sounding coughs. A mistake—I'd meant to go for the heart, but I must have missed.

"She killed me!" Coil shrieked, even as blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth. "The tinker in blue!" I jammed the iron into the base of his spine, and he slumped silently to the ground.

For a second, I stood as if paralyzed. There he was, the villain mastermind that had destroyed my life, lying boneless on the ground. It hadn't even been difficult. Hell, Harrison had put up a better fight, and that was without any powers of his own. Though, something about his last words seemed strange. It seemed important, like I needed to know who Noelle was and why he'd called out to her. His wife, maybe?

Then the mercenaries resumed firing at me, and the oddity was immediately pushed aside. Whoever Coil had been talking to, they were the immediate threat. I didn't think they could hurt me with bullets, but if one of the guns was powerful enough and they hit me in a joint...

And then, another _boom._ The whole opposite wall shuddered, and cracks began to radiate outward from the heavy door. Each of the mercenaries looked over their shoulders, and lowered their guns. I tensed, feeling again that pressing uncertainty. Then, one after another, the guards abandoned their positions and fled, their employer's killer forgotten.

 _Boom._

It clicked. There must be someone—or based on how loud the noise was, some _thing,_ locked in that vault. This must be Noelle. I backed up a step, then two, then turned tail and sprinted back the way I'd come. _Have to get Dinah,_ I thought, then stumbled as another impact shook the floor.

A grinding wail chased me up the stairs and down the hallway, as the girl in the vault fought to escape. Ignoring it, I yanked aside the closet door, now hanging broken off its hinges, and peered inside. Dinah was right where I'd left her, curled into a ball amongst heaps of cleaning supplies. She looked a little more lucid now, at least.

"Coil's dead," I said, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet. "But there's someone locked up in the main room, I think they're escaping."

Dinah paled. "Noelle," she murmured.

"Is she that bad?"

"We have to get out of here, now!" Her face twisted in agony, she clung to my arm and bit out a scream.

"Dinah!" I yelped, grabbing her shoulders and peering at her face. "What's wrong?" Beads of sweat stood out against her pallid skin, mixing with the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Headache," she whispered.

Grimacing, I lifted her up and cradled her in one arm. I barely even felt the weight, but she cried out again at the sudden motion.

"Hold on a little longer," I pleaded, then looked around anxiously. "Do you know where the door is?"

"It'll be sealed. But..." Dinah stopped, swayed, and screamed again. It took all my willpower not to demand that she stop and rest. We couldn't afford to do that, not until we were free and clear. "That way," she gasped, pointing over my shoulder, back toward the main room. "Twenty percent chance we get out."

"What?" The thinker didn't respond, just wrapped her frail arms around my neck. My armor couldn't possibly have been comfortable to rest her head against.

"Fuck," I said, to no one in particular, and started running again. It was agonizing, trying my best to sprint at full speed while still jostling Dinah as little as possible. By the time I got back to the main room, the heavy steel door of the vault was bent and distended to the point where it no longer reached the floor. A steady stream of water trickled through the newly-formed crack, and I had to watch my footing on the slick floor as I got closer.

 _"You bitch!"_ roared a voice, so angry that it barely sounded human. _"You ruined everything!"_ I yelped, nearly falling over as I changed course, giving the vault door a wide berth and looking around for what I was supposed to be using to get out of here. Did Coil have a secret escape route? Well... he definitely seemed like the type. But I had no idea where it might be.

"I'm going to _kill you,"_ the voice went on, dripping with venom and scattering my train of thought.

And then, even as I watched, something long and fleshy squeezed itself under the thick door, cutting off the water flow and curling up to get a better grip. Some sort of tentacle, though it looked like it would be almost as thick as I was if it wasn't flattened out so much.

"Dinah," I breathed, hoping to avoid giving away too much of our position. "Where do we go?"

She groaned, but otherwise gave no answer. I was on my own.

Grimacing, I made a break for the nearest set of stairs. Hopefully this was the right way, and we were somewhere in that twenty percent. I'd done my best working off her prediction before, when I'd attacked Coil, and it had all worked out. But thinking about _that_ brought up a can of worms that I really couldn't afford to deal with. _Later,_ I thought. _You can break down later._

I was only halfway up the stairs when they started to shake. The thing in the vault smashed itself against the door again and again, and each impact shook the thin metal walkways and sent dust raining down on our heads. Fighting to keep my balance, I adjusted Dinah so that she was slung over my shoulder, and easier to carry with one arm—her blood might rush to her head, but it would keep pumping. With the other, I clung to the railing and hauled myself upward. Anything to move a little faster.

Even as I ran, I knew the vault wouldn't hold up long enough. There was a harsh screech of tearing metal, so loud that I could feel it reverberating in the air. Then it ended, leaving my ears ringing. Something about the silence made my stomach churn with dread.

I glanced back, and caught a glimpse of something gargantuan, of snarling heads joined together around a monstrous waist. Over a dozen legs flailed and clawed at the ground, and despite their clumsiness the creature was faster than I would've thought possible. And perhaps worst of all, at the very apex of the mass of flesh, there was what looked like a female human torso. Noelle charged toward me, and I snapped my head back around. My feet pounded on the stairs, my arm snapping out to pull me further upward. I was faster than any baseline human, but I could still hear it getting closer, _louder._

Metal rang on metal, and suddenly I leveled off—I was on the catwalk. I would have to slow down to make the turn, to dive into tighter concrete corridors where she wouldn't be able to reach me. I didn't bother, and instead slammed into the wall full force. Then I pushed backward, letting my momentum bounce me further down the hallway.

If I didn't have my suit, I would have collapsed in relief. As my human body cried out for rest, my mechanical one kept sprinting at full speed.

I never saw the monster attack. I only heard a sick, wet _slap,_ as something slammed into the ground behind me. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I cried out as I realized that one of the mouths on its torso had opened, and a long prehensile _tongue_ was reaching for me. It curled at the end, struggling to wrap around my retreating form.

There was some kind of giant chimera trying to _eat_ me. I screamed in pure terror for the first time in years, and kept tearing down the hall, searching frantically for some way to escape. Any hesitation I may have felt was hijacked, overridden by simple panic. Already I could hear Noelle scrabbling at the entrance, shoving more tongues into the opening. The whole building was shaking, dust rained down from the ceiling, and I could hear... running water?

 _A leak._ I turned, skidding to a halt in front of a closed door. There was a small stream spewing through the gap between it and the wall, and it was beginning to buckle outward from the pressure. I tried the knob—locked—stepped back and _kicked._ It exploded off its hinges, revealing what looked like some kind of office. A wave of filthy water rushed out of the room, drenching me up to my chest and spilling into the hallway. Dinah whimpered into my ear.

The far wall had collapsed almost entirely, turning into a small waterfall. I waded forward, looking at the leak, judging its size. I could fit.

But Dinah wouldn't be able to get through. The force of the current was too strong—I doubted I carry her through it, not with only one hand to climb with. I bit my lip, and winced as I drew blood.

"Dinah," I said, doing my best to look her in the eye from where she hung off my shoulder. "I need you to stay here a minute, okay? I will be right back, I'll get help and I'll come and get you."

I swung her down off my shoulder as gently as I could, and deposited her on the remains of a smashed desk to keep her off the ground. Now that the water had a bigger outlet the puddle on the floor was barely an inch deep, but it was flowing fast and I wasn't sure she stand on her own as it was.

"Can't get a number," she mumbled, hugging her knees to her chest. "Hurts too much."

"You don't have to," I assured her. "Just sit tight for a moment, and—"

A crash sounded from the main room, and a low rumble shook the building. Dinah cringed, shaking so badly I worried she might fall off the desk.

"I _will_ be back. I promise."

I didn't give her a chance to reply. I wasn't an engineer or anything, but it _felt_ like the base was coming down. Dinah needed real help, someone who could fly her out through the water, or a forcefield generator. They were fighting Leviathan up there, surely I could find _someone._ So, before I could lose my nerve, I dove headfirst into the waterfall.

Immediately the world went on mute. I could hear water pulsing and rushing around my helmet, and that was all. My visor wasn't airtight—water was already trickling in through various pores and seams, so I took a deep breath while I still could. It was hard to see, but I could still reach out and feel for handholds. Luckily the wall was jagged where it had split open, and the crack was narrow enough that I could easily brace both legs against the sides.

Slowly, surely, I pulled myself higher and higher. My helmet filled with water and grime, and soon I was forced to close my eyes entirely. I had no idea where the surface was, and my lungs were already beginning to burn. The current rushed around me, pulling at my armor, soaking the clothes I'd worn beneath it. They weighed me down, pushed me back, but I didn't tire. Every pull was as forceful and mechanical as the last, and progress was made.

And then, the current lessened. I tried to open my eyes, but my visor was still full of muck that stung my eyes. My lungs cried out for air, and I sputtered, losing a few stale bubbles. I couldn't swim, the armor was too heavy, and suddenly the walls to either side of me were gone. Stumbling, I reached down, and nearly gasped in relief when my seeking hand found a slope of solid ground. I reached up, found more rock or pavement above that, and began to climb.

Whatever strange hill I'd found was rough and uneven. I couldn't see to navigate it, but it seemed I didn't have to. The slope wasn't gentle, but it wasn't sheer either. I crawled on my hands and knees, groping ahead of me, trying to ignore my growing dizziness. The darkness was almost as oppressive as the lack of air. I couldn't see where the surface was, or if the pocket of water I'd come out in would simply keep going until I hit some kind of ceiling. With every step I worried that I would lose track of which way was up, or finally give in to temptation and take in a lungful of water.

If my time in the closet had been painful, this was excruciating. I began to breathe the air in my lungs in and out, keeping my mouth sealed shut and puffing my cheeks in and out with each gasp, faster and faster as the reflex failed to provide relief. Both hands stretched upward, seeking blindly for air. Then, finally, my left hand broke the surface.

Lightheaded now, I heaved with all the strength I could muster—still just as much as I'd started with. Reaching up, I popped open my visor and heaved a breath of clear air, choking and coughing and retching into the small puddle that had dripped out of my helmet. Blearily, I forced my eyes open, blinking away the last bits of silt and squinting in the light. I stood, looked around. Stared.

There was a fucking _lake_ in the middle of downtown.

"Not important," I mumbled to myself. I had to find a flier, or a teleporter, or _someone._

"Help!" I croaked, turning around and stumbling on a splintered piece of pavement. There was no one here, no one in the sky, just trampled buildings and debris and—there! A head of blonde hair, a white costume. Glory Girl, tilting her head from side to side, apparently searching through a pile of rubble. She hated me.

I ran toward her anyway, waving an arm as I went. It took a moment for her to notice, but when she did she whirled around, shock written all over her face. She met me halfway, and grabbed the front of my armor. The metal groaned in protest.

"What are you doing here?!" she spat, actually lifting me a few inches off the ground. "The fight's over, and you don't even have an armband."

"Please," I said, abandoning any pride I might have had. "There's someone trapped down there—" I gestured frantically at the lake, "—with that thing!"

"What thing? You aren't making any sense."

"That's because I don't know what the _fuck_ is going on, so just... just help me, please!"

"You think I'm going to risk my life trying to save _Sentry?"_ Glory Girl demanded. Her aura began prickling at the edges of my consciousness, and I tensed.

"Sentry's _dead,"_ I yelled in her face. "It's a little girl trapped in there. Her name is Dinah and if you don't help her _now,_ she's going to _die."_

"What?! You have a _kid_ locked in your _basement?"_

 _"It's not my basement!"_ I took a breath, forcing myself to ignore the creeping panic festering in the back of my mind. "I'll owe you, okay? I'll turn myself in, I'll let you beat me to a pulp if you want, just go and _help_ her, alright?"

Glory Girl's expression softened slightly, though suspicion was still etched into her features. "Okay," she said, and began floating toward the lake. "Where is she, exactly?"

"Underground, there's an opening under the water."

The hero shot me a look. "How the hell did you—never mind. But I need more than that, I'll be pretty much blind down there."

"I came out here," I said, pointing at a wet spot on the bank. "Just go straight down from there, and you should find it."

A final nod, and she dove, disappearing under the surface. I blinked, and suddenly realized that I'd been tearing up. Well, if it had helped convince her, I wouldn't complain.

As minutes passed without Glory Girl reappearing, I started fidgeting. Part of me wanted to jump in and help her look, but I knew I'd be more of a liability than a help. So I paced, striding back and forth in increasingly agitated circles. The wait was agonizing, as my mind flashed through scenario after scenario, of Dinah being snatched by the monster or wandering off or drowning or—

 _"Fuck!"_ I hissed, stepping forward towards the lake. I raised both hands to my helmet and squeezed, hard, then winced as I heard something crack. My mind began whirling, trying frantically to come up with some plan to help Glory Girl that didn't involve diving in blindly and hoping I bumped into the right spot before I ran out of air.

How long had she been gone? How long _should_ she be gone, if she'd found Dinah and everything went as planned?

Just as I had begun psyching myself up to dive back into the lake, the surface of the water shattered into a burst of spray, and Glory Girl rose gracefully into the air. She looked very much the part of the hero, even with her blonde hair plastered to her face and her costume so dirty it was almost brown. In her arms, Dinah was held tightly to her chest.

She set down on the edge of the lake, and I sprinted up to meet her. Dinah was shivering, maybe from the cold, and I knelt to look her in the eye. Her gaze was glassy, unfocused.

"See? You're going to be fine now, I promise." She shook her head, and I noticed that she'd started fussing with the hem of her gown again.

"You were telling the truth," Glory Girl said flatly. "Explain. Now."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Dinah beat me to it. "We need to run," she murmured.

"Hey, it's okay kid," Glory Girl told her. "Leviathan is gone, Scion chased him off. You're safe now."

"I'm _not,"_ she insisted. "Noelle is escaping _right now."_ I could _feel_ the blood drain from my face.

"Who is Noelle?" Glory Girl demanded. Dinah cringed and clutched at her head.

"No idea." I responded, when it became clear that the precog wasn't going to answer. "But she's huge, and fast, and pissed off. So take Dinah, and find everyone else who showed up to fight. Tell them it isn't over yet."

Glory Girl nodded, and stuck out a hand for me to grab. I forced a small smile, and only then did I realize that my visor was still open. Not that it really mattered at the moment, but I popped it back into place anyway.

Just as I grabbed her arm, the street beneath us began to tremble. A few blocks away, sections of pavement began to crumple inwards, shooting a plume of dust into the sky. Under the cacophony of falling concrete, I thought I heard a distant scream of rage.

"What the hell?!" the hero blurted, staring at the spectacle with wide eyes.

"Go!" I shouted at her, and the ground vanished beneath my feet. For a moment I flailed in empty space, nearly losing my grip on Glory Girl's arm. Then I relaxed as best as I could, letting myself hang limp like a giant metal streamer. A thunderous grey sky opened up all around me, threatening to swallow the three of us whole. The air around me howled, worming its way through the cracks and joints of my armor and making me shiver as it chilled my soaked clothing. I grimaced, then twisted my head around so that I could at least see where we were going.

Far, far below, I could see the actual damage Leviathan had caused. Buildings that lay in ruins, streets scattered with rubble, and some tiny specks that might have been living capes or corpses. I wondered briefly just how bad of a calamity I'd dropped in the middle of my city. Noelle was escaping, there was no way I could stop it now, but the worst thing was that I still had no idea what her power might be. If she had something like Alexandria's insane durability, how would the city even deal with it?

Then again, she might not even have one, beyond the obvious changes to her body. I doubted it, mostly because I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been both optimistic and right. That, and how terrified Dinah had been of Noelle escaping. So, worst case it would probably be—I just wished I knew what that meant.


	19. If We Fuck This Up

**Alright, this marks the first time I've actually updated this, instead of just dumping a ton of stuff I'd already written onto a different site. So... yay, I guess? Next part ought to be up in two weeks time.**

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Flying wasn't nearly as fun as I'd imagined. The view should have been amazing, and I was sure even a month ago I'd have been starstruck at the thought of _meeting_ Glory Girl, let alone hanging off her arm a couple hundred feet in the air. Now, the sensation of speeding along through the air was spoiled by the obvious destruction down below, and the fact that I'd broken this girl's ankle only a few days ago—though I wasn't completely sure how many. It was hard to keep track of time underground.

Thankfully, the experience didn't last too long. Glory Girl was fast, and the cold had only just started to numb the tips of my ears when she announced our landing. She was apparently quite flexible in the air—honestly, if I had her power I didn't think I'd ever bother touching the ground—so the actual descent was surprisingly gentle. I felt my relative weight increase as she decelerated, then the sensation lessened until it disappeared with barely a jolt. Buildings grew back to full size around us, and the wind finally stopped roaring in my ears. We alighted together, my feet hitting the ground an instant before hers did.

The second we'd touched down, the hero shrugged her arm out of my grip. She then set Dinah down gently on the street, keeping an arm on one of her shoulders to help steady her. I wondered bitterly whether I'd have gotten the same treatment, if I'd ended up with a thinker power rather than a suit of armor, but pushed the thought aside. Ignoring a slight flare of synthetic fear in the back of my mind as equally irrelevant, I crouched down to check on Dinah, who had gripped the back of Glory Girl's costume to steady herself.

Her head was cradled in one arm, eyes squeezed shut as she rocked slightly back and forth. I paused, one hand hovering helplessly over her shoulder. She didn't look physically injured, at least, though there were tear tracks on her face and her whole body was trembling. Was she going through withdrawal already?

I had opened my mouth to ask when Glory Girl grabbed me roughly by the arm, pushing me away. Twisting around, I fixed her with the harshest glare I could muster, though it was wasted on my opaque visor.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "We're out of danger for the moment, so you are going to tell me who this kid is and why she was locked up underground. Then, if I like your answer, I _won't_ snap that armor of yours in half like a twig. Got it?" I grimaced.

"Do we have to do this now? Noelle is going to find us soon."

She shook her head. "I'm still not so sure Noelle is the problem here. _You_ are definitely a scumbag." I bristled, but she plowed on anyway. "I'm not doing anything until I'm sure that this isn't some kind of trick."

"Fine," I spat. It wasn't worth the time it would take arguing with her. Still, it was hard to figure out where to start. I shuffled slightly in place, trying to order my thoughts.

"Her name is Dinah." I said at last, voice shaking only a little. "I just met her this morning, after the alarms went off." Glory Girl gave me a look of blatant disbelief.

"You're seriously telling me that you had a little kid locked up in your villainous lair, and you didn't _know?"_

"It's not _my_ lair!" I snapped back, all hesitation forgotten. "Coil built it, and I've been stuck down there over a _month_ now, not that any of you idiots have noticed!"

"What are you talking about?" Glory Girl demanded, clenching a fist.

"I'm not Sentry's _partner._ I'm just like her!" I jabbed a shaking finger at Dinah. "A bunch of mercenaries grabbed me off the street!"

The hero's eyes went wide. "You... That can't..."

Her shock must have been affecting her power—I could feel it slithering around in my mind. It had changed a little, when I'd told her. The fear was still there, but there was also a kind of... magnetism. I wanted to impress her, I wanted her to respect me, I wanted to throttle her until she turned that fucking aura _off._

"Are we going in, or not," I said, voice frigid.

"...Yeah," she managed.

"Which one is it?" I scanned the street ahead of us, but couldn't see anything official-looking. Then, Glory Girl pointed over my shoulder at a huge, weathered-looking warehouse.

The building itself had definitely seen better days. Before, it had probably been an old but sturdy warehouse, likely still in use by someone or other. Now, it was clearly suffering the after-effects of an Endbringer attack. It wasn't as damaged as most of the shops and houses in areas where Leviathan had actually fought, but even so it was marked with telltale smears of silt and trash near its foundation, and weathered by the wind and rain that had fallen during the attack. I couldn't really be sure what it had been used for before the battle—all I could tell was that it was enormous.

Noise spilled from within the massive structure, enough that I could hear it even from several dozen feet away. Costumed figures would occasionally duck in or out of doors along the wall facing us, paying our strange trio little to no attention as they scurried about their business. Even as I watched, an unfamiliar flier emerged from one of the upper story windows, carrying a cape in each arm.

While we were heading toward the building, I stole a brief glance at Dinah. She looked... better, I supposed, though that was definitely a relative term. The second we got to the main group of defenders, I decided, I'd pass her off to Panacea or one of the other healers. Someone who could be trusted to look after her. Dragging an incapacitated thinker into this fight was just stupid, and she'd had enough of this bullshit to last a lifetime.

Honestly, some part of me wondered if maybe I should join her. After all, I certainly wasn't equipped to fight that thing with just my armor. Down in Coil's lair, she'd made it abundantly clear that she wanted to kill me. I'd have to be insane, to want to participate in a fight with a gigantic, monstrous cape with unknown powers that was planning on _eating_ me. Still, I couldn't just run away. I'd let her out, so it was my job to at least try and help put her down for good. Or, failing that, do my best to clean up the mess afterward.

With a resigned sigh, I jogged the last few steps to the nearest set of double doors, catching up with Glory Girl just as she reached for one of the handles. She yanked open the left-hand door, and jumped back with a cry of surprise as someone ducked under her arm and stumbled out of the building. I stopped dead, and stared wide-eyed as a familiar figure turned to stare at me.

Tattletale turned to look me right in the eye, and I found myself subconsciously leaning backward, to put more distance between us. A moment of tense silence fell as her face contorted in a rapid series of completely incomprehensible expressions, before settling on a grin so wide that it must have hurt.

"You did it, didn't you?!" she blurted, her gaze flickering between me, Dinah, and finally Glory Girl.

I considered asking what she meant, but thought I could probably guess. "Coil's dead," I said simply. The words felt strangely bitter.

I wasn't sure exactly what I _thought_ would happen. Maybe a pat on the shoulder, or congratulations, or even anger—he _had_ been her boss after all. Instead, Tattletale burst out laughing. I blinked owlishly, turning to glance helplessly at Glory Girl and Dinah. The latter was still barely lucid, and the former was wearing an expression only a hair short of murderous. Her aura had returned full force.

"Uh," I managed, after a few tense seconds had passed.

Tattletale suddenly seemed to realize that there were other people present, and cut herself off abruptly. Turning to me with a smile that was downright unhinged, she stretched out a hand. "I owe you," she declared. "You... probably have no idea how much. So, thanks! I'll get in touch with you later, give you some contact info if you ever want me to return the favor."

"What?" Glory Girl and I said, at almost the same time. I was more baffled than anything else, but the hero looked like she could've melted steel with her gaze. _What is that about?_

"I'll explain later," the villain assured me. Whether or not she was answering my unspoken question, I couldn't be bothered to try and figure out. I just nodded dumbly, and turned to look at Glory Girl again. The look on her face hadn't changed a bit. "Glad you two are getting along," she said acidly, "but we need to talk to whoever is in command here."

"Something went wrong," Tattletale realized, her grin disappearing almost instantly. "Coil's dead, so that's not the problem. Though I'm not sure how you managed to pull that... off..." Her face went milk white.

"Some girl named Noelle was locked up down there with me," I told her, just in case she hadn't figured it out already. The fact that she was doing half of the explaining for me was almost as annoying as it was convenient.

"Fuck," she said, in a voice barely above a whisper. I grimaced.

"Is it that bad?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah."

"Wait, wait!" Glory Girl interjected hotly. "How do you know about Noelle?!"

"Coil paid me to talk to her, see if I could figure out how to fix her," the thinker explained. I scowled. It was more than that, I was sure. She'd been the one to tell him about my power, though I'd gotten the impression that it was an accident.

Glory Girl seemed baffled as well. "Fix her? What do you mean?"

"She's a case 53, one of the monstrous capes, and... not exactly stable. I can't be sure, but I've always gotten the impression that she could be just as bad as an Endbringer, in the wrong circumstances."

"An _Endbringer?"_ I blurted, horrified.

"Or potentially worse, since I doubt she'll jump into the ocean if we beat her down enough. Like I said, it would depend a lot on how we fight her."

"Explain," Glory Girl ordered.

"I will," Tattletale assured us. "But let's get Dragon in on this first, she can relay the information to everyone still in the city. I don't really want to repeat myself, and a little more time to let my power work would be good too."

"Fine," the hero snapped. "Come on."

As Glory Girl strode past us and into the building, I caught a glimpse of Dinah being half led, half carried along with her. Tattletale's gaze flicked from her, to me, then down to the floor. I gritted my teeth. She tried to follow them, but I put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Did you know?" I asked under my breath. Tattletale turned, startled. I tossed my head meaningfully at Dinah.

"No," she whispered back. My eyes narrowed slightly, and she winced. "I wasn't exactly thrilled to be working with Coil either. He basically held a gun to my head and handed me my first paycheck."

 _'What?'_ I almost shouted, but Tattletale put a warning finger to her lips. "We can talk about it later, okay? I was serious about owing you, an explanation is the least I can do. But we should focus on Noelle first." I nodded reluctantly, and followed her as she ducked back into the command center.

The noise of the room hit like a wave. Outside, it had manifested only as a constant drone of voices, loud but not overwhelming. Once we actually stepped into the midst of it all, I had to fight the urge to cover my ears to blot out the chaos around me. Doctors, nurses and healers were all swarming through the center of the structure like ants, ducking in and out of small curtained-off 'rooms' that I guessed held injured capes. All of them seemed to want something, and I could just make out bits of distant orders for 'more bandages' or 'another bottle of aspirin,' as well as more exotic things, mostly the names of medicines I didn't recognize.

Off toward the end of the room, nearer to the door where we'd entered, there was a group of costumed villains and heroes clustered together. A woman in a tight orange bodysuit was gesticulating wildly, and I caught the word 'teleport' a few times, though most of what she said was lost in the ambient noise of the room.

"Dragon!" Tattletale called out, the second we were in earshot. A couple of heroes turned—most notably a man who seemed to be made entirely of metal—but it was a towering suit of what looked like power armor that actually broke off from the main group and headed to meet us.

"Is there a problem?" she asked politely, and I had to fight to keep myself from staring. I knew by now that there was no one inside the mechanized armor. Over the months I'd spent building and tweaking my own exoskeleton, I had done some research into notable tinkers, and Dragon had been one of the first results I'd looked into. She was well known for sending remotely controlled suits into combat in her stead. And, being a tinker myself, I had to fight to try and focus on what she was _saying,_ and not the tantalizing bits of electronics I could make out in the spaces between the suit's armored plates.

"Yes," Glory Girl said. I blinked, mentally rewound the past few seconds to figure out whose question she'd just responded to, and chided myself for getting so easily distracted.

"I think we might have another big threat in the city," I explained. As I spoke, the other nearby capes began to take interest, and my mind went into temporary overdrive when I realized that Alexandria herself was standing not ten feet away, and _staring_ at me. Miss Militia was there as well, though I didn't see Armsmaster around. Beside her, Aegis stood with his arms crossed, positively _glowering._

"She, uh," I said awkwardly, feeling suddenly put on the spot. "She was underground, but she broke out of the bunker and came after me."

The mech cocked its head. "You're Cobalt, aren't you?"

I nodded, cautiously. "Look, I know I don't have the best record in the past, but—"

"I am aware of your... situation," the suit said. My eyes widened behind my visor. "A colleague of mine figured it out this morning."

"Then... you believe me?"

"I will take your warning seriously, though it still has to be confirmed."

"We're trusting _her_ now?" asked Aegis incredulously.

"I saw it too," Glory Girl said, reluctantly. "At the intersection of Hamilton and Fifth. Some weird monster leg came right out of the street. She's telling the truth, at least about there being a huge cape underground."

Dragon hummed acknowledgement. "I am sending a suit to that location as we speak. In the meantime, who is this?" The mech's head turned to look at Dinah, who had wrapped her arms around her own midriff in a depressing sort of hug.

"Dinah," I said. "She's—"

"—The mayor's niece," Tattletale said, cutting me off. "I read about her in the paper about a month ago."

I turned to stare at her, and she in turn looked to the girl in question. Dinah met my gaze, then mumbled, "You can tell them, it doesn't matter."

"You sure?" I said, mentally kicking myself for not realizing that the girl might not want to be outed as a powerful precog in a room full of capes.

"Yes."

"She can predict the future," I told Dragon, who had been watching the exchange with palpable interest, and glanced back at Dinah. She had gone back to fiddling with her nightgown again. It suddenly occurred to me that someone should get her some dry clothes.

"She doesn't look too good," Tattletale observed, giving her a critical once-over. "I have some experience with thinker headaches myself, so... I wouldn't bank on her being able to tell us anything useful for a while. Better to get her somewhere safe, maybe send one of the fliers?"

"She needs a healer, too," I said.

Miss Militia nodded in understanding. "Come with me," she said gently, beckoning to Dinah. "I'll make sure you're taken care of, okay?"

Whatever Dinah's response was, I didn't catch it. Instead I watched anxiously as they disappeared into the crowd of doctors and healers.

"She didn't _look_ hurt," Aegis mused aloud. "Is she... okay?"

"I think Coil drugged her," I said miserably. "She seemed really out of it, and mentioned needing candy."

Glory Girl's head whipped around to stare at me. "What the fuck?!" she yelped, as if the response had been forcibly dragged out of her. She wasn't alone, either. Just about everyone present had begun talking at once, and I cringed backwards, floundering for the right words to explain myself.

"You mentioned Coil," Dragon interjected, cutting through the sudden uproar. I blinked, feeling very much like a deer caught in headlights.

"Yeah."

"What does Coil have to do with this?" she asked. "Were you an employee of his?"

"No!" I blurted. "Well, yes? It's kind of complicated."

"How is it complicated?" Aegis demanded. "Did you know, about Dinah?"

"I only found out today," I said desperately. "That's why I—" I stopped, suddenly powerless to speak.

"You _what?"_ insisted the woman in orange.

That started another cascade of questions, asked far too rapidly for me to even begin to answer, mixed in with demands from various people to, "Shut up and let her talk." I cringed, and recoiled slightly as Glory Girl and Tattletale stepped up to stand on either side of me. Maybe they were trying to shield me from the sudden mess of inquiries, but all I could think was that now, I was trapped. The voices surged again, and it was all I could do to stay still and not run away when Alexandria spoke for the first time.

"Enough."

The single word ended the interrogation almost instantly. Alexandria turned to regard me with calm curiosity. It was comforting, somehow, feeling like she still hadn't made up her mind one way or another.

"What do you mean 'complicated,'" she asked.

I shifted uncomfortably, and glanced at Tattletale to my left. She twirled her hand in a 'go on' gesture. I squirmed in place, reluctant to speak. Part of me wished we could just skip all this. It wasn't important, was it? Dinah needed care and Noelle needed to be stopped, so why were they interrogating _me?_

After a few tense seconds, Glory Girl lost patience. "She told me Coil kidnapped her," she said blithely. Tattletale twitched on my other side, and I noticed suddenly that she'd taken a step or two away from me. I moved gratefully into the extra space, and braced myself for more questions.

None came. It looked like everyone else was willing to let Alexandria speak for now, which I was almost absurdly grateful for.

"You mentioned a bunker."

"Yeah. Coil had this huge Bond villain lair built underground. That was... uh, where I was when the alarms started going off because of Leviathan. Noelle was locked in this massive vault, and she busted out after—" I cut myself off again, frustrated. I should just _say_ it. It was self-defense, wasn't it? Though Coil hadn't actually stood much of a chance, whatever his power was it certainly hadn't been useful in an actual parahuman fight.

"Go on, Cobalt," Dragon said gently. Something about that tone made me tense up, though I didn't really have time to analyze it.

"I killed Coil," I told them, since words were apparently my enemy in this conversation. Might as well get it out with as few of them as possible.

It certainly produced a reaction. The capes present all turned and _stared_ at me, and some of them started peppering me with questions again. Even Alexandria looked surprised.

"Dinah told me if I didn't, I'd probably die," I said, scrambling to explain. "I couldn't just leave him down there."

"It's alright, Cobalt," Dragon asserted. "We'll want to ask you about that in more detail later, but I'm sure you won't be in any trouble." Again, the friendly tone _grated._ It took some effort to ignore it, and focus on explaining properly.

"Noelle seemed angry," I went on. "As in, she told me she was going to kill me and broke through a vault door."

"Wait," Aegis broke in, "Wasn't she locked up? Why would she defend him?"

"She asked him to do it," Tattletale said, thankfully drawing the attention away from me. "Coil paid me once, to tell him everything I could about how he might be able to get her back in her right mind. She's not stable, she has a massive appetite and everything she eats makes her bigger, stronger, harder to control. There were... incidents, where she hurt people without really meaning to."

"Did you know?" Glory Girl asked suspiciously.

"About Dinah? No. I was only down in the base to talk to Noelle, it wasn't like he gave me a tour." She was definitely lying about that last part, if she'd decided to call him about me after my first fight with Lung. I grimaced. If I wasn't already sure she had strong ties to Coil, I would have thought she was being completely honest.

I shifted uncomfortably, and asked a question that had been bugging me. "Does that mean you know what her power is?"

"I'm glad you asked," Tattletale replied, her usual grin back in place. "As far as I could figure out from what she told me, she eats people. Swallows them whole, then spits them out, along with copies of them. The clones come out wrong, though. Warped physically, and for capes they have slightly altered versions of their powers. They're also batshit insane."

"Meaning?" prompted Alexandria.

"Meaning that they hate everything the original person loves, and wants to kill them and everyone they've ever met. They are _not_ on our side, and we can't afford to treat them with anything less than full force, because they won't return the favor."

"Understood," Alexandria said, bulling right over the sudden tension in the air caused by that little revelation. "If there will be hostile clones in the area, we'll need some way to identify the originals. The armbands would work, assuming she can't copy technology."

"She can't," Tattletale confirmed. "Same with clothing, from what they told me."

"They?" Alexandria demanded instantly. "Who is 'they'?"

The villain hesitated a moment, obviously uncomfortable. "The Travelers," she admitted. "Her team. I didn't really want to say anything, secret identities and all that, but now that I think about it... did any of them show up to fight?"

"What are their names?" Dragon asked. "I can check the list of capes currently using the armbands."

"Trickster, Ballistic, Sundancer, and Genesis. Oh, and speaking of armbands," she gave me a significant look. "Cobalt needs one."

"Of course," the mech responded, grabbing a discarded device off a nearby table and handing it to me. "Just speak your cape name into it, and it will turn on."

"Cobalt," I stated, and a light near the top of the thing flashed green. Fighting off a sudden urge to dismantle it and poke at its guts, I returned my attention to the discussion at large.

"...not here," Dragon was saying. "They're spread out in different sectors, on search and rescue."

"Call them back," Alexandria ordered.

"Of course."

With a curt nod, Alexandria continued probing Tattletale. "Is there a limit on how many clones she can have?"

"I doubt it. It doesn't end there, either. Her body is already pretty huge, and it keeps getting bigger and less human. I've been considering that she might be developing into another Endbringer, but—" her voice was suddenly drowned out with horrified exclamations. Tattletale clapped her hands together impatiently to silence the group, and continued. _"But,"_ she said pointedly, "That's just a theory, and it doesn't really matter anyway. Either way, if we fuck this up we could have another S-class threat on our hands."

"She's got tongues, too," I said quietly. People turned to me once again, and I found that I was gaining confidence now that the subject had moved on from me. "They're prehensile, she nearly grabbed me when I was trying to get out of the bunker."

Alexandria nodded in understanding, then looked to Tattletale again. "This copying, do you know anything about its limits?"

"Only that I don't think it would work on inorganic material," she said. "Though I'm not sure how much clothing would help. The touch thing may also be limited to her original body, though I'm really not too confident about that."

"Her original body?" Dragon asked. "Can you clarify that?"

"She has a human torso, on top of the mutated part," Tattletale explained. "That might be a weak point, though I haven't looked into it much. Coil wanted to cure her, not kill her."

"Okay," Miss Militia said, "but what do we do about this place? Most of the injured can't leave on their own."

"We should bring the fight to her," Alexandria decided. "Legend and Eidolon are already on their way, though they may take a few minutes to arrive. They were both called to respond to an incident in Washington state."

"My other suits are mobilizing, to try and locate her," Dragon informed us. "If we're ready, I'll send out a universal broadcast explaining the situation."

"Go ahead," Alexandria told her.

Just like that, my armband flashed again. Dragon's pleasant voice soon filled the whole medical ward, blaring in perfect unison from every active armband and detailing exactly how _fucked_ we all were. People began scrambling around left and right, mostly teleporters who were transporting the more critically injured to a safer location.

"I still feel like I'm missing something," Tattletale mused beside me. My heart sank.

"Did you remember anything else about her powers?" I asked, already bracing myself for bad news.

"No," she said, "I just—"

"I have a visual on Noelle," Dragon announced, cutting her off mid-sentence. "About thirty blocks away, heading in this general direction. She's covering a lot of ground very quickly, and she has some kind of cloud around her."

"We need to get the injured out of here," Alexandria insisted. "They're sitting ducks for her to bolster her forces."

"It may be too late for that," Dragon said grimly. "She's twenty-five blocks away now, heading straight for us. It's likely she already knows where the command center is. We'll just have to try and—"

 _"Shit!"_ Tattletale almost screamed. I yelped, jumping back and away from her with my ears smarting. All heads turned to her.

"What?!" I demanded, dread already pooling in my gut.

"Capes!" she half-shouted, making me wince again. "We should be thinking about capes that would be dangerous, if they were cloned."

Dragon nodded, understanding immediately. "Capes like Eidolon, Legend, possibly Alexandria as well."

"We can keep some of them in reserve," Alexandria allowed, "Although I believe Legend and Eidolon should have little trouble staying out of range while they attack, and I could take a less direct role in dealing with the clones."

"I'll send messages to anyone we decide is too dangerous to allow to fight," Dragon decided. "Tell them to concentrate on search and rescue, or avoid the fight altogether if their powers are particularly—"

"Panacea!" Tattletale blurted suddenly, apparently not caring that she was interrupting. "If Noelle manages to clone her... that would be bad, _apocalypse_ bad."

"How could an evil healer possibly end the world?" asked Glory Girl incredulously.

"Because she—" Tattletale cut herself off, making a visible effort to snap her mouth shut. Then she started again, slower this time. "The clones have variants on people's abilities. My power is telling me that it's possible, and even likely, that a clone of her wouldn't be limited to healing."

"Like, breaking someone's bones by touching them?" I asked.

"No, like complete control over biology. Such as, say, artificially creating plagues." Tattletale paused a moment, letting the statement sink in.

"Oh," I managed, voice a little higher than normal.

"Get her out of here!" Alexandria snapped. "Now!"

Glory Girl nodded, and darted off toward the hospital section of the building.

"Eight blocks," Dragon warned, "and there is a clone with her already, though it seems to be creating a kind of mist that makes it hard to identify."

"Engage them," Alexandria ordered, and turned to look at me. "You're the one she's after, correct?"

"I think so," I replied nervously.

"We need to move you away from here. If she wants you, then your location determines the location of the battlefield." She raised her voice to project across the room. "Anyone who can keep up with me, we're heading out to choose a new battleground. The rest will have to catch up later."

With that, she grabbed me under the arms and lifted off. The world blurred out of focus, and I could just make out the shape of an upper-story window as Alexandria swooped out and into the open air.

For the second time that day, the ground fell away completely. Held as I was, semi-upright against Alexandria's chest, I had a much better view of the streets below. There was something inherently upsetting about how ruined it looked—it was my city, after all.

Then, just below us, I spotted her. Noelle wasn't being very subtle, after all. Just as dragon had said, a massive cloud of dense-looking mist had coalesced along the route to the command center, lit up occasionally by blaster attacks from a trio of Dragon's mechanized suits. Within the haze, I could just make out a blurry shape the size of a truck rampaging through the streets. It was terrifying to see just how fast she was. Though I couldn't fully track her movement, what few glimpses I got as she barreled down the street showed that she was actually moving faster than _Alexandria_ _,_ which was an incredible feat in and of itself.

I also managed to catch sight of a human-shaped shadow doing the same, silhouetting itself against the occasional thinner patch of fog as it raced across the rooftops as fast as Noelle. Was it granting her extra speed, or had she always been able to do that? Either way, it meant we were likely dealing with two clones already—him, and whoever had generated the mist. Maybe more, if there were others not immediately visible.

Alexandria soon lifted herself even higher, seeking altitude and flying over the top of the cloud. Fear clenched in my gut, despite knowing that we were over a hundred feet off the ground at this point and well out of Noelle's reach.

As we glided, one of my toes brushed against a stray wisp of mist, and I shuddered slightly. The fog was freezing, and soaked right through my boot and into my sock. I frowned, slightly annoyed by the unpleasant sensation, especially since I'd touched a _cloud_ in the middle of the sky and it hadn't been fluffy at all, which was just unfair.

Almost as soon as the feeling registered, my foot swung out into open air again. Alexandria was moving incredibly fast, and I'd barely touched it for an instant—but the damage was already done.

A low _hiss_ filled the air around me, something akin to the sound a soda can makes as it's popped open. I craned my neck downward, staring in disbelief as the mist beneath me began to melt away before my eyes. The heavy cloud fizzled and popped, clearing a hole all the way through it and down to the street below. There, standing on a rooftop just a bit ahead of us, was the dark figure I had seen dashing along the rooftops.

It wasn't moving anymore. Through the suddenly clear space between us, I saw the figure standing on a rooftop, craning its neck to meet my eyes. And, even across the distance between us, I caught a glimpse of the figure's right arm—and on it, shining dully in the fading afternoon sun, was one of Dragon's armbands.


	20. To Swallow Her Whole

**So, I've thought for a while that it's sort of unnecessary to put author's notes before every chapter... Until I realized how _awful_ that 'next chapter' thing looks when it breaks up the actual chapter text. I mean, that thing right there - Or there-ish, I guess.**

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There was someone working for Noelle.

The thought seemed ponderously slow to me, drifting through my mind as if through molasses. She had a cape on her side, an actual human person who had sided with her. It didn't make sense, she wanted to smash what little was left of Brockton Bay, why would they be _helping_ her, unless—

 _Her teammates_. He had to be one of them, but which one? His costume was definitely familiar, all red and black with a top hat, but I couldn't remember his name. He'd been talking to Tattletale, once.

It didn't really matter now, except that it _did_ and something in the back of my head was screaming at me to make the connection _now_ , before it was too late.

Alexandria was lifting me up and away, even more impossibly out of range for Noelle and the mist generator, and that _should_ be calming me down, but something was still niggling at the back of my mind. I turned to look down at the slowly receding figure, staring up at me with a hand outstretched—and then there was a wall in front of me and something slammed into the backs of my legs with the force of a rampaging bull, and the whole world went sideways.

I bounced off the brick wall like a pinball and rolled painfully onto my stomach on the street, head spinning. My eyes opened, but the world was still dim and hazy, all buried under a blanket of fuzzy whiteness.

"Wha?" I mumbled groggily, pushing myself up onto my elbows. The gloom ahead of me shifted, providing just the slightest bit of warning. I tried to scramble away, but part of my mind was still up in the sky, safe in the knowledge that I was a couple hundred feet out of reach. Shaking my head in an attempt to clear it, I watched as the mist ahead of me seemed to darken and writhe.

I stumbled backwards, diving to the side as one of Noelle's tongues erupted from the fog. It chased after me, stretching and elongating like a worm. I scrambled away on my hands and feet, crab walking with my back scraping the road beneath me. My whole world tunneled, all my focus directed towards my feet, and trying to get them back under me.

The mist seemed to thin again, and without even thinking I pushed myself up onto my knees, hauling myself to my feet and sprinting off into the thicker part of the cloud. It took me a moment to realize _why—_ I might be able to see better without all that fog in the way, but so could Noelle. Not only that, but it had been right after the mist cleared away that I'd somehow ended up back on the ground. I still wasn't entirely sure what had happened, though teleportation seemed a likely bet.

So, if I was right, and whatever it was had been line-of-sight, then I should stick to the fog as much as I could. Grimacing, I dodged behind a building just before the mist around me evaporated. Scanning the street around me frantically, I dashed toward the next group of buildings, weaving in between them as quickly as I could. The fog had almost totally dissipated behind me, though an ever-receding wall of the stuff always stood a few feet in front of me. I could see through it, though only vague outlines and not as far as I usually could. Still, it was enough to judge where I was going, and where to run.

My feet pounded on the ground beneath me, and as I looked up I thought I saw shapes overhead. The sky was still cut off by the mist, but if I was right than there might have been fliers above me. Whether they were friendly capes or clones, I had no way of knowing, but there wasn't much I could do about them. I kept running, barely managing to dodge a signpost as it emerged from the gloom.

Leaving the mist was almost as disorienting as entering it. One moment I was sprinting full-out, panting for breath more out of fear than exertion, with the fog clinging to me in clammy wisps. The next, I was squinting against sudden brightness as the world around me burst back into life. Color returned to the buildings around me, once again sharp in their clarity. I glanced back over my shoulder, and caught a glimpse of the fog swirling at my heels, intangible tendrils reaching out as if to grab me.

Noelle was still moving, I knew. I could almost feel the tremors of her feet hitting the ground. So I kept moving, running in the same direction I had been. Only then did I realize that I was headed back toward the command center. I knew I shouldn't—people hadn't been evacuated yet—so I skidded to a sudden halt and turned left down a side-street.

Soon, running became almost routine. I stumbled repeatedly on bits of rubble and trash washed out onto the road, but always managed to keep my balance. Water sloshed beneath my boots, but I kept to the sidewalks where it was shallower and tried my best to find to solid ground whenever I could.

Then, above me, I heard a sudden commotion. Glancing up, I tripped over a hidden bit of refuse and nearly brained myself on an abandoned car as I sprawled face-first on the concrete. Wincing as my helmet rebounded off the rearview mirror, more or less painlessly thanks to the padding, I rolled back to my feet and looked at the sky.

Far, far above, so distant that they were nearly invisible, I saw the same gathering of specks that I had before. Even though the mist was now behind me, I couldn't really see them any better. They were farther away, and all I could really make out was a larger white blob, coupled with two—no, three—darker dots silhouetted against the evening sun. It was loud, though. Bright lights kept going off between them, and sometimes time a sharp _crack_ would accompany them, almost like distant thunder.

I didn't really mean to slow down, but I suddenly realized that I'd been gawking and not running, and Noelle was probably getting closer. Cursing, I started sprinting away again, ignoring the figures above me entirely.

That, it turned out, was a mistake. As soon as I passed underneath them, I caught a glimpse of motion in the corner of my eye. Turning, I froze for a moment at the sight of one of the fliers plummeting toward me like a rock, and of her face—so distorted by Noelle's power that her jaw was frozen open in a permanent scream.

The clone nearly plowed into me, but I just managed to throw myself out of the way, landing painfully on my hands and knees. The weight of the impact buzzed up through my bones, jarring my elbows and sending me sprawling flat on my face.

I pushed myself over, wincing at the motion, and threw up a hand to shield my face—an instinctive reaction rendered a bit moot considering I had a helmet. There was a flash of bright light, searing into my eyes even as I shut them reflexively. I could actually _feel_ a wave of pressurized air driving me into the asphalt, and a wall of noise blasted into my eardrums.

When I came back to my senses the whole world was ringing like a bell, and water was soaking into the back of my armor. I opened my eyes, blinking away bright spots to reveal a hand, not three inches from my face.

Pure instinct saved me. I reached up, grabbed the offending limb by the wrist, and _pulled._ The clone flipped head over heels, revealing that she probably didn't have any superstrength—that hadn't worked nearly so well on Glory Girl.

As soon as she managed to right herself, her hand raised once again. This time I was too far away to stop her, so I turned away and snapped my hands over my ears just before the second flash. This time I had braced myself, and now that it wasn't quite point blank I recovered quickly. Struggling to my feet, I whirled around and struck out at her head, aiming to put a fist through her temple.

The clone caught my punch on one hand, and I caught a glimpse of a brilliant mosaic of red energy before it shattered under the force of the blow. My fist kept going, and crashed into her arm with about half the initial force—which, with my armor, was enough to snap her wrist.

She didn't look like she was in that much pain, but she hopped back into the air just the same, hovering a few feet above my head and preparing another blast. I backed off, turning away fully and covering both my eyes with one arm. The blast wasn't so bad when I was ready for it, and I turned back around almost immediately, only to find her barreling towards me again.

 _I don't have time for this,_ I thought, frustrated. If I could disable her and make a run for it, I didn't think she'd be able to do much to stop me, since her attacks were much more manageable when she wasn't right next to me. Her flight would be a problem, though. When all this was over, I didn't care how much my power whined at me, I was _going_ to install some ranged options into my armor.

Grimacing, I tried keeping some distance between us, but she caught up to me with barely a thought, her toes skimming over the water flooding the street. I was starting to see some of the strange fog coiling on the ground a couple of blocks away, and Noelle probably wasn't far behind. I was out of time.

A glance upward showed me that the other three capes were still locked in their aerial battle, though the white one looked like it was gaining ground. No help from that front, assuming all the darker spots were clones. I couldn't rely on help from the command center either, not unless they knew where I was.

Just like that, it clicked. I tried to reach for my armband, to send a message for Dragon, but the clone had gotten close enough that it was raising its hand to blast me again. I shielded my eyes as best I could, but it was too slow. A wave of light blasted into me, making me fight to keep my balance, and the dazzling brightness bled through my eyelids and seared into my skull.

For a moment I stood still, gritting my teeth and waiting for my vision to clear. I stretched out a hand, waving it blindly in the air in front of me in a vain attempt to compensate for my temporary blindness. Something brushed against it, and I had only an instant to try and dodge before I felt something tugging on my armor.

And, for the third time in one day, my feet left the ground. I swore aloud, finally blinking away enough of the leftover glare to make out the clone hovering right beside me, gripping my breastplate in one hand and holding me up in the air. The other was positioned right in front of my visor.

I jerked back and away, turning my head as far as I could and ramming my knee into her sternum. Something _crunched,_ but her attack went off just the same, with a deafening crack and another wave of light. The clone howled in pain, and I reached both hands up to try and grapple her, seeking out more vital areas like the chest and face.

So, like any flier that had picked up an unexpectedly violent opponent, she dropped me.

Despite how obvious the maneuver had been, I wasn't expecting it. She was, like all the clones would be according to Lisa, completely nude. There were no loose bits of fabric to grab onto, and I hadn't reached high enough to get a grip on her hair. Instead, I slipped off and began to fall, spinning and twisting uncontrollably through the air.

There was the moment of weightlessness that seemed to last barely an instant before I _slammed_ into something hard—though not nearly as hard as I was in free-fall. Whatever it was caved in almost immediately with the sound of breaking glass.

My eyes fluttered open, revealing the remains of someone's very expensive looking SUV. The whole roof had flattened inwards, crumpling until I lay in a small depression in the middle of the car.

From that position, I had a perfect view of the sky above—and for once, the people fighting up there. The white dot I'd noticed before was now rather clearly _two_ people, both wearing light-colored costumes, one apparently clinging to the other.

I swore aloud, and began extricating myself from the shell of the car. That was almost definitely Glory Girl and Panacea, and if Tattletale was to be believed then leaving them to the clones was a _bad_ idea.

The clone I'd been fighting before was only about a dozen yards above me, so I had to act fast. Grabbing my armband, I jabbed the button on the left and bellowed, "Clones attacking Panacea and Glory—!"

Another blast detonated, cutting me off mid-sentence. Caught off-guard, I hadn't had time to brace myself, but the clone was thankfully too far away for it to have the same devastating effect. I still managed to haul myself over the edge of the car roof and land heavily on my side.

Pushing myself back upright, I saw the clone readying another attack. She was staying out of my immediate range this time, sacrificing power until she could fly into my guard while my eyes were closed. Grimacing, I turned my back on her and sprinted in a straight line, avoiding most of the light effect. My ears were still ringing a little, though I honestly wasn't sure if that was because she'd just blasted me again or if it was just left over from her first attack.

I knew she was going to try and use the time I spent recovering to get close and blast me again. She would have to be in front of me, if she wanted to hit me with the light effect. But more than that, I guessed she would probably try and come up from behind if she could, while I was still a bit dazzled, to hit me harder and keep me off-balance for longer. I tried to listen for the sound of her approach, but my hearing still hadn't fully recovered. That, and someone who can fly doesn't have footsteps. So, abandoning anything resembling technique, I whirled around and leveled a punch at chest height, throwing all my weight behind it.

It nearly missed. In fact, the attack only barely grazed her side, and a shimmering red field appeared to dissipate the force of it even further. Yet, it _did_ break through, and glanced off of her with enough force to knock her off balance. Twisting myself around again, I backhanded her hard across the face.

With a sickening _crunch_ and a spattering of gore _,_ the clone crumpled bonelessly to the ground. I stumbled back, doubling over as a wave of nausea crashed over me. The clones were surprisingly fragile, though I supposed I should be grateful for that.

Slowly, steadily, I breathed in and out, and stood to my full height again. As soon as I had composed myself, I craned my neck back to look up. Glory Girl was still ducking and weaving, trying to distance herself from the clones, but they seemed to be keeping her penned in. Even as I watched, she was forced into an honest-to-god _barrel roll_ in order to keep Panacea safe from one of the clones, which kept firing thin red lasers at her as it circled around them.

Steeling myself, I cupped both my hands around my mouth and shouted, "Hey!" at the top of my lungs. The combatants ignored me completely, though one of the clones had stopped flying rather abruptly before continuing its attack on Glory Girl. They had heard me, they just didn't care what I had to say—yet.

"I'm Cobalt!" I yelled, waving one arm over my head. "Noelle wants you to kill me!"

 _That_ got their attention. All four capes turned to look down at me almost in unison, and Glory Girl seized the opportunity to dive through the nearest opening while the clones were distracted. She flew straight toward me, and the two remaining copies soon followed hot on her heels.

Skimming low along the road, she didn't land, choosing instead to hover a few feet above me. Panacea hung loosely in her grip, and would probably have fallen if it hadn't been for Glory Girl putting both arms around her back in an attempt to shield her from enemy fire.

"The hell are you doing?" Glory Girl demanded, turning to keep her eye on the clones. One was hovering in place, glowing a bright green, and the other was trying to circle around to attack us from the other side.

"Distracting them," I answered. "I'm the one Noelle wants dead."

"It won't work," she replied grimly. "They... they're copies of Laserdream."

I winced. "I'm sorry."

"You killed that other one?" Glory Girl asked, ignoring me in favor of glancing down at the body.

"Yeah."

"Good. I'll deal with the one behind us, you take out the other one. I can't really fight without getting Amy hurt." The girl in question shifted slightly, and I grimaced at the sight of her right sleeve, which was beginning to turn pink even through the layers of cloth that made up her costume. I suspected Glory Girl had learned not to engage the clones the hard way.

The two of us stood, or in her case hovered, almost back to back, as the clone in front began closing in on us. Glory Girl lifted off to lead the other one away from me, to let me handle the more close-ranged fighter on my own.

Staring down my opponent, I suddenly realized that she did bear a noticeable resemblance to Glory Girl herself, aside from her strangely rigid-looking skin. It was easy to believe that they were cousins.

Then, she flew over a dozen yards in half a second and a burst of green energy, and I immediately pushed aside that line of thought. Her lunge was insanely fast, considering the distance she'd covered, but I could still see it coming enough to deflect her punch off one of my gauntlets. As soon as she disengaged, she started to glow again, hovering backward until she was just outside my reach.

I had maybe a few seconds to stop her before she charged another attack. Rushing forward, I tried to get closer, but she just flew around me in a circle, forcing me to keep turning to face her. I felt my boot slide a little on something stuck to the road—and then she was shooting toward me, flying at her full speed with one glowing arm outstretched. I tried to dodge, but by the time I even realized she was coming she was already only inches away.

The clone's light-wreathed fist slammed into my chest with the force of a train and a blast of green light, luckily connecting right at the center of my breastplate where the armor was thickest. Still, it rang like a gong and dented hard enough to make my entire upper body buzz with suppressed pain response even through a layer of padding. A huff of air was forced out of my lungs, and I stumbled backwards.

Raising my arms into a more defensive position, I realized with a shock that the clone was already starting to glow again. I honestly wasn't sure if I could take another hit like that. Even if she didn't hit one of the chinks in my armor, I could already tell that the damage to my chest was more extensive than I would have expected—every breath made my nerves tingle. My ribs were probably bruised, maybe cracked.

I was stepping back a little, hoping that this clone's attacks would be weaker with distance like the other one, when a gunshot rang out across the street. I jumped, startled, and glanced behind the copy of Laserdream. I nearly cried out in sheer relief as I saw Miss Militia standing at the entrance of a side street. She had some kind of rifle couched in one shoulder, and was firing shot after shot toward the unfortunate clone.

One bullet in particular found the back of the clone's knee, and the strange energy that had been gathering in her fists all dissipated with a _bang_ as the shot went right through her leg and ricocheted off my shin guard. She turned, _hissing_ with displeasure, and started to fly toward the hero, with more energy already gathering across her whole body.

I flung myself after her, locking both my arms about her neck and wrapping my legs around her waist from behind, then slamming my helmeted head into hers.

The green energy met my attack with a crackling sound and the smell of ozone. My neck was wrenched back as the recoil nearly tore me off of her, but I held on and tried to squeeze her windpipe instead. Again, her power protected her and the attack let off a shower of sparks. She kept charging forward, but she was much slower now, apparently unable to handle the weight, and was hovering sluggishly only an inch or two off the ground.

Miss Militia never stopped firing. Shots impacted the clone left and right, though each one was repelled. Still, I'd realized by now that whatever it was she was using to block our attacks, it was the same thing that enhanced her own. If we kept hitting her, she wouldn't be able to hit back.

Satisfied that the gunshots were keeping the clone mostly unable to retaliate, I focused on stopping her steady advance on Miss Militia. Instead of trying to choke her, I moved one hand and clamped it over her face, covering her nose and mouth. She bucked, suddenly panicked, and tried to shake me off, but she couldn't charge her own strength, and so her feeble attempts to move my hand were easy to shrug off.

Still, she kept flying toward Miss Militia, and soon the hero would have to move to keep the bullets off her. I needed to slow her down, so I let go of her with my legs and dug my toes into the ground, wincing at the high-pitched screech of metal on asphalt.

Then, after many long seconds, she finally snapped. The green energy abandoned most of her body, and all shot to her arms to let her _yank_ me off, and I found myself flying away from her, landing heavily on my back almost ten feet away.

As I looked up, her head and chest were already peppered with bullets. She collapsed soundlessly, face down. In the sudden silence following the outburst of gunfire, I could hear distant shouts and explosions. There must have been other capes fighting Noelle somewhere close.

Groaning a little at the effort, I hauled myself upright again and looked around. Glory Girl was back on the ground, with the clone that had been harassing her dead as well. Aegis and, to my surprise, Tattletale were both there as well, though the latter was keeping her distance from the New Wave capes. She had a gun, too, which surprised me more than it should have—as a thinker, she could probably use all the extra firepower she could get.

I jogged toward them, meeting Miss Militia around halfway there. "Thanks," I told her, as we moved in toward the rest of the group. She nodded back, expression somehow warm despite the fact that I could only see half of it.

"Amy's hurt," Glory Girl said almost immediately, as Miss Militia and I approached the other group. "She needs a medic." I could see that Panacea was almost hanging off of her shoulder, her face sweating heavily. Her sister didn't look great either, with her hair mussed beyond recognition and her costume covered in dirt and not a little blood.

"We need to get her out of here first," Tattletale urged. "Noelle is barely two blocks away."

Despite shooting a withering glare at Tattletale, Glory Girl picked her sister up once again, this time in a bridal carry. She looked frighteningly pale to me, with her freckles standing out starkly against her cheeks.

"Stay close to the ground," Miss Militia advised. "One of her teammates is working with her, he can swap people's positions if he has line of sight. You'd be safer following the streets."

Glory Girl opened her mouth to reply, then froze in midsentence. I turned to look over my shoulder, and saw a man in a lime green coat stumbling out of a side-street. Behind him, a clone that was nearly eight feet tall was lumbering down the road, swaying back and forth drunkenly and holding out clawed hands as if to strangle him. Another explosion sounded, this time not nearly so distant as before.

"Go!" Tattletale screamed. "Get out of—"

And in her place, the man in green was looking around, bewildered. _"Damn it!"_ he hissed, then turned back toward the fight.

Tattletale was now trying her best to dodge the manic attacks of the strange clone, firing her gun into its face and backing away as it swiped at her face. I started towards her, only to find myself ten feet in the air. Actually managing to land on my feet this time, I let my legs absorb the shock of my fall and whirled around, trying to pick out the teleporting cape. There was a figure on a distant rooftop that looked familiar, but there were already several other capes mobbing him, so there wasn't much I could do to help. More people were emerging from side streets as the fight moved toward us, and soon I could actually feel Noelle's massive footsteps shaking the ground. I cursed, then resumed sprinting towards Tattletale.

The rumbling of the ground was getting louder, and I knew I should probably run—I was the one Noelle wanted dead, after all. But it still seemed wrong to leaver her there. I couldn't help remembering how cold Glory Girl had been to me, and how she'd protected Dinah, just because one of us had been forced to fight her.

That sounded crazy even in my head, but I kept going anyway. Tattletale had already put a lot of holes in the clone, and luckily for us whatever armor it had wasn't quite enough to stop a bullet completely. It was already staggering, so the second I was close enough I grabbed one of its flailing arms and yanked it off its feet. As it was falling, I brought my knee up and smashed it right in the face.

I only had about half a second to feel relieved at how easy that had been. Just as the dead clone was hitting the ground, a huge shape smashed its way through a chain-link fence blocking off the yard of an abandoned factory and began rushing towards us. Monstrous heads and a tangle of mismatched legs writhed in ragged unison, and Noelle let out a howl of unrestrained fury.

Tattletale and I _bolted_. I was soon to grab the thinker by the arm and drag her along with me so that she could keep up, praying that the rest of the capes fighting Noelle could slow her down enough to let us escape. Soon we were passing the spot where we'd been before, and I realized with sudden dread that Glory Girl was almost a hundred feet in the air, probably due to the teleporting scramble form earlier, while Panacea was still down on the ground. She was leaning heavily on the side of a nearby car, obviously unable to stand on her own.

"Fuck," Tattletale hissed.

Just as we were about to pass by her, I reached out a hand to snag the healer's and carry her with us. My glove brushed against the tips of her fingers—and something slammed into my back, making me pinwheel through the air and tearing Tattletale's arm out of my grip. I slammed back-first into the street, struggling to right myself. A thick tendril of sickly-smelling flesh was hovering above me, and I only just managed to push myself out of the way before it crashed down on the spot where I had been.

Looking up, I saw Tattletale frantically retreating, nearly tripping over some rubble as she tried to get out of range of the tongue that was thrashing around trying to grab her. Another three had targeted me, and I was forced to backpedal to avoid being pinned down.

Then, when I turned my attention farther to the right, my heart sank. Panacea had been knocked to the floor, and was trying to get a grip on the car she'd leaned on earlier to pull herself back upright. But behind her, another one of the tongues was rising off the ground, ready to strike. I tried to rush over to her, to push her out of the way, but Noelle blocked me easily, and I was forced to duck to avoid being captured myself. Tattletale called out a warning, but she could barely even _move,_ let alone dodge an attack.

I watched, helpless, as the tongue wound itself around the healer's chest. Noelle lifted her easily into the air, and opened her mouths to swallow her whole.


	21. All I Could Think to Do

**This is officially the first chapter I've written where I've actually followed a kind of writing schedule for all fourteen days, by which I mean I was like, "Okay, I'ma write five hundred words a day, plus a couple for planning and editing." And... it's quite manageable, actually. Why haven't I been doing this forever?! Also, HOLY HELL, I'm better at writing when I plan things instead of improvise?! I would never have expected this! That is 100% not sarcasm, by the way. I totally figured I'd be better and more creative if I were a bit more spontaneous, but apparently not. Huh.**

* * *

 _"Wait!"_

It was all I could think to do.

Noelle was lifting Panacea higher into the air, her mouths nearly unhinging themselves as they opened to swallow her, the world could _end_ right now, and all I wanted was to make everything _slow down_ for a moment. Desperate, I cried out as loud as I could for Noelle to just _wait._

Even as I was shouting, Noelle's tongues were rolling toward me, a slick, undulating mass of flesh that was ready to bury me. I nearly tripped over myself trying to backpedal away from one that had shot out to hook around the backs of my knees, and another almost blindsided me as I was trying to recover. A quick glance to my left showed me that Tattletale was struggling to avoid the tongues on her side, even though there were only a few of them. I wanted to help—but it was all just too _fast,_ I didn't have a chance of stopping any of this if I didn't have time to _think_ first!

So, in between pants for air as I weaved between the tongues, I screamed at Noelle with at the top of my lungs, throat starting to smart already as I prayed for her to turn her head, slow her attacks, _anything._

She didn't seem to notice. Her tongues kept lashing out at me, one clipping my shoulder and knocking me head-first into a shop-front. I didn't go all the way through the window, but I could hear the sound of shattering glass as I slid to the ground, dazed.

With a pained grunt, I started to push myself back upright, wincing as I felt bits of glass digging into my gloves. I had barely managed to get to a kneeling position when there was a strange splintering sound, and a flash of bright light that forced me to squeeze my eyes shut against the glare.

I groaned, groping with one arm at the wall beside me, looking for a handhold to push myself back up. Noelle roared in anger, and I braced myself, ready for one of her tongues to wind its way around me, lift me up into the air—but the attack never came. Blearily I forced my eyes open and refocused my attention on Noelle, only to find that she was now encased in a massive layer of pale blue ice. I blinked in confusion, before noticing a woman in blue with both hands outstretched, being supported on both sides by what I assumed to be her teammates.

Amy was still suspended in midair, the tongue holding her straining against its frozen bonds. Any hope I may have had that Noelle would _stay_ immobilized vanished as soon as cracks began to creep across the freshly-laid ice, each one forming with a dry snapping sound that made me flinch.

As I watched Noelle struggling to free herself, the closest thing I'd ever seen to an honest to god _barrage_ of blaster powers was slamming into her. Some were holding back, I saw—Dragon, most notably, as well as a few others. Only a few of them were attacking the actual tongue holding Panacea. It looked like everyone was being very careful of their aim, making sure they didn't hurt one of the best healers in the country. Part of me wondered if we'd all look back on that tomorrow, remembering it as the choice that ended the world—but it wasn't like I wanted to kill her, and maybe more importantly I _couldn't._ I really needed more ranged options.

Grimacing, I turned my attention to the rapidly deteriorating shell of ice around Noelle. I couldn't see the cape that had made it anymore, but they hadn't reapplied it yet. Maybe it was a limitation to their powers, maybe they'd been attacked by a clone—in the end, it didn't really matter. She was breaking free, and the blasters weren't going to be able to free Panacea in time. A few fliers had drifted down near her, Aegis and Dragon among them, but their efforts were hampered by the flailing of what few tongues were left unfrozen, as Noelle was keeping them close around her prize, reluctant to give up another power to copy. Even as I watched, one of the Dragon suits was slapped out of the air by a tendril, smashing into the ground so hard that it left a sparking crater in the road.

"You can still come back from this!" I shouted as loud as I could, hoping to buy a little time for the rest of the defenders. Noelle ignored me entirely, though I wasn't exactly surprised. Internally I scolded myself for being so vague—specifics, I needed to distract her and she wouldn't pay any attention if I didn't give her _details._

"Coil figured it out!" I burst out, for once letting my mouth run on ahead of my brain. This time, Noelle whipped around and gave me her full attention, though I could still see the ice around her beginning to splinter.

"He had a way to fix you," I continued, hardly even knowing what I was saying at this point. "I heard him talking to someone named Mr. Pitter!" The man had seemed like some sort of cross between a creepy nurse and every other mercenary in Coil's employ, none of which suggested that he would have been trusted with something like this. Still, I was beginning to realize that without a power like Tattletale's that let me _know_ what Coil might have figured out, I would just have to overwhelm her with sheer volume of bullshit.

Noelle was not pleased. "You're lying!" she howled. Again her torso erupted in a maddening chorus of dissonant cries, though I was getting better at ignoring it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spared a glance for Tattletale, who was being _supremely unhelpful_ at the moment—though I supposed that probably had something to do with the way she was leaning against a dumpster and panting for breath. No help from her, not for the moment, at least. Then, just as I was about to look away, she turned and caught my eye. Her head shook emphatically, and I noticed her tilting her head toward Noelle. A warning? Or a sign that she couldn't help me?

 _I'm not a thinker, damn it!_ I thought heatedly. Regardless of what she was trying to tell me, I didn't have _time_ to think it through. I just had to keep talking, keep distracting her.

"Pitter is still alive," I insisted. Hell, for all I knew he _was,_ I hadn't seen him since he fled the room where I—where I met Dinah. "If you stop this now we can find him, get him to tell you what he knows!"

 _"Liar!"_ Noelle screamed again, throwing herself against her bonds with her eyes bulging out of their sockets. Froth began bubbling up at the corners of her many mouths as she thrashed in place, and cracks were forming all along her bulk, more rapidly than ever.

 _Too far,_ I realized, as my heart rose into my throat.

Slowly, then faster and faster, sheets of ice around her shattered under the strain. The bonds around her strongest legs went first, though she was still partly stuck to the ground. Heads all along her torso began to crush the ice between their jaws, snarling as they spat shards of frost onto the wet pavement below. The blasters and fliers redoubled their efforts, to little effect.

Then, her tongues came free. With a resounding _crack,_ the one holding Amy split away from the main body of ice, snapping up into the sky as the tendril was suddenly freed of all resistance.

"I swear!" I cried, desperation beginning to bubble over into my voice. "I know where he'll be, too! He's still in the bunker, hiding in Coil's office! I can take you to—"

I was cut off by a gunshot. Then another, and another and another, too fast for me to count them. High above me, Aegis dove in front of Panacea, and I watched in horror as he began to bleed from at least three bullet wounds. Whipping my head around to the source of the sound, I saw Tattletale—still leaning on the dumpster, arms outstretched, and holding a gun in her trembling hands.

"What the fu—" I tried to shout, only for my words to die in my throat as Panacea screamed once... and disappeared down one of Noelle's jaws.

For a moment, I stood frozen, staring at the place where the healer had been. Other capes were still moving, I knew. _Noelle_ was still moving, I could see her coming closer, but it wasn't until I heard the sound of something metallic clattering to the ground that I finally snapped out of my reverie and began backing away.

Despite what had just happened, pandemonium did not break out. I thought I could sense a kind of hot rage in the postures of the capes arrayed against Noelle, even fear _—_ but not outright terror. Maybe they hadn't been told exactly _why_ Panacea was not to be allowed near Noelle at any cost, or maybe it hadn't had as much of an impact on them, hearing it secondhand. Either way, it was only a select few that showed the same fear that I began to feel, slowly overpowering the numbness and shock.

Tattletale hadn't moved from the stance she'd taken to shoot at the healer, but I could see her face going milk white even as I watched. Her gun was lying abandoned in the street, her limp hands still outstretched as if to use it. Aegis was hovering in front of Noelle, almost as if he were fighting his instinct to dive in and try to save her, despite the futility of the action. Blood was seeping into the fabric of his costume, where he'd taken the bullets meant for Panacea.

Again, I found myself wanting time to stop, just to give me a few seconds to process what had just happened. But Noelle was still in motion. One of her tongues snapped through the air, heading straight for me. I was forced into a hasty, stumbling retreat as I ducked under the attack. To my left, Tattletale had gone almost entirely limp, slumped with her back against the dumpster and a look of naked terror on her face. I slid past a few more tongues, until I could grab her under both arms and haul her along down the street, gritting my teeth in annoyance.

 _"Move,"_ I hissed. She seemed to jolt back to reality, shoes scraping against asphalt as she pushed herself back upright.

"We're so _fucked,"_ Tattletale murmured. I couldn't exactly disagree with that sentiment.

Again I wracked my brain for options—so far I'd been useless and worse than useless, and I couldn't let the world end. Not _now,_ when I'd only just gotten away from Coil.

Still, I couldn't think of anything to _do._ The only way we could get Panacea back was if Noelle gave her up voluntarily. There was no way she was going to... unless...

 _Fuck._

"I... have an idea," I said, reluctantly. Tattletale gave me an odd look—maybe she knew what I was thinking, maybe she was still trying to figure it out. Honestly, I didn't even have the whole plan yet, just vague outlines. All I knew for certain was that I needed to be in a position where Noelle couldn't get to me right away, but could still hear me. I couldn't do that here, she'd just chase me down and swallow me.

I changed direction as abruptly as I could, propelling Tattletale and I down an alley and letting Noelle stumble past us, unable to make such a sharp turn. I didn't exactly smile when I spotted the fire escape near the middle of the alley, but I did feel a surge of relief as I approached it. I could probably have tried to flag down a flier instead, but I didn't really like my odds of surviving long enough for them to get to us through all of Noelle's tongues.

She herself was in very noisy pursuit, though the tight alleyway was proving to be a problem for her. It was a lot like in Coil's base—if she couldn't fit, she'd be limited to attacking with a tongue, or just tearing the whole place down. I didn't doubt that she could do that, but with the extra time I'd just bought I boosted Tattletale as high as I could to get her to the bottom of the ladder.

Once she was on her way up, I crouched down and sprang back into the air, catching the third rung from the bottom in both hands. Unfortunately, it wasn't the kind that slid down once you put weight on it. I had to haul myself up rung by rung, but even that wasn't exactly difficult with my armor. Soon Tattletale and I were both on the roof of the building, two stories up and out of reach of Noelle for the moment. She was already trying to scramble up on top of the buildings at the edge of the alleyway, using smashed windows as handholds, but it would take her a while.

That meant my idea might work—unfortunately.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the edge of the roof and faced Noelle. "Spit her out!" I shouted, clenching my fists so hard that my nails bit through my gloves. "Spit her out and you can have me, I won't run!" Beside me, Tattletale turned her head sharply to stare at me.

"No!" Noelle shrieked. "I'm going to hunt you down!" Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Tattletale stiffen slightly.

"But you don't _have_ to," the villain said suddenly, turning back to look down at Noelle. I fought back a grimace, gripping one of the straps around my breastplate hard enough that I was sure my knuckles were turning white. Even though this had been my idea in the first place, I couldn't help but feel an irrational pang of hurt at how willing Tattletale was to help me do this. I pushed it away—I already knew I wasn't worth the end of the world.

"You're not a bad person, Noelle," Tattletale was saying. "You just want revenge, you want to get even." The girl in question snarled angrily, but she was paying her full, undivided attention now.

"I want to make up for it," I pitched in, only for Tattletale to shake her head slightly at me. This time I knew that it was a signal for me to shut up.

"It doesn't have to be like this. You can get your revenge without destroying the city, or hurting people who had nothing to do with it. And Panacea— _Amy_ might even be able to help you."

As Tattletale was talking, I found myself looking between her and Noelle, trying to gauge the latter's reaction. But as I watched, I began to notice Tattletale's eyes occasionally flicking to something beside Noelle. Something in the street?

I scanned the area, trying to see what she'd seen—and it was then that I realized the barrage of blaster powers had slackened somewhat. Noelle was ignoring them entirely now, and behind her, just a bit to her left, was one of the Dragon suits. It hovered almost twenty feet off the ground, motionless.

If the way Tattletale kept looking at it didn't tell me there was another plan going on, then the slight smirk she flashed at me definitely would have. I still had no idea what the plan was or how she'd known about it, but just the fact that there _was_ one brought on a rush of relief that left me feeling dizzy.

Noelle, meanwhile, was still tearing at the alley mouth with all of her legs, struggling for purchase to climb up and charge at me. As soon as Tattletale stopped talking, she turned to us and bellowed at the top of her lungs, _"No!"_

I opened my mouth to respond, but Tattletale elbowed me gently in the side. Turning to glance at her out of the corner of my eye, I saw her mouthing the words, _piss her off._

That... wouldn't be hard. "What?" I yelled down at Noelle. "You think you can catch me yourself?" Noelle smiled—and with the mouths on her torso participating, it was _not_ a nice smile.

"Coil thought so too," I said. Tattletale hadn't really told me _how_ angry to make her, so I went with the nuclear option.

Noelle didn't disappoint. "You _bitch!"_ she howled, enraged, and began tearing frantically at the walls in her way. Bricks and bits of timber came loose in droves, falling to the ground and shattering into tiny pieces.

"I caught _him_ though," I continued, feeling myself starting to sweat through my clothes. Noelle hadn't been all that composed to begin with, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to make her any angrier than she already was... but there was a kind of rush to it, of pushing at her until she snapped. Maybe this was what Tattletale felt like all the time.

Noelle was beyond words now. She just screamed, ramming a mutated leg right through the second story of the building and hauling herself up onto our level. And, while she was distracted, Dragon _dived._

The suit did the one thing everyone had been trying so hard to avoid throughout the battle—it slammed right into the center of Noelle's gelatinous bulk and pushed itself inside. I blinked, suddenly realizing that the entire plan had been to feed her _another cape_ and feeling more than a little bit betrayed.

Until Noelle began to thrash even more wildly, nearly toppling over as her back began to bulge and warp. She screamed, rage and pain mixing together, words lost in a maelstrom of gibberish as she fought her way forward, staring right at me and Tattletale as the strange protrusion burst in a shower of gore. The Dragon suit emerged, with Panacea held tightly in its metal arms.

"Go!" Tattletale urged, giving me a push from behind. I went, though not before catching a glimpse of Noelle, with strings of foam and saliva hanging from her mouths, trying to pick up speed to get to us. The building in front of her had been almost totally demolished, letting her use her many limbs for leverage to climb up to us. We had maybe a few seconds before she reached us.

As soon as we got to the edge of the roof, we jumped. I landed fairly easily, having made it to the other side with several feet to spare, but Tattletale only barely cleared the rim and went down hard on one knee, panting. I hauled her to her feet, thought not before Noelle had covered nearly half the distance across the other roof.

"Hey!" I shouted, noticing a flier hovering a few feet away. As he touched down, I recognized Aegis, still bleeding from a few of the bullet wounds Tattletale had given him.

He regarded her coldly, and offered me his hand, gliding slowly to let us keep up with him. "Come on," he said. "We need to get off this roof."

I looked at it, feeling slightly repulsed for some reason I couldn't place. "I'm faster than Tattletale," I told him. "Grab her, I'll follow you on the ground."

Aegis relented, though he didn't look happy about it. Tattletale probably didn't make things any better by smirking at him as he picked her up, but soon enough they were up in the air, and I only had to worry about keeping myself out of Noelle's reach. By then I'd reached the end of the roof again, and had to make a longer jump this time to a building just a bit taller than the one I was on.

But just as I coiled my legs underneath me, she made contact with the building I was on. The whole complex shook violently with the impact, throwing my balance a little. I jumped anyway, feeling the sudden release of tension and rush of adrenaline as I leapt through the air.

The alley below me was relatively large, and I caught a glimpse of a battle going on down below, with a cape that looked like he might have been Clockblocker dodging between a group of clones, trying and failing to tag them as they faded in and out of sight. I caught barely a glimpse of it as I flew by, and then I passed the top of my arc. I was falling when I hit the next roof, grabbing the lip with both hands and wincing as my body slammed into the wall. Hauling myself up was easy, and I soon found myself sprinting through someone's rooftop garden. It was surprisingly intact, considering, though I knocked over a potted plant of some kind as I rushed past.

Noelle would probably do a lot more than that. The thought was enough to get me moving faster, vaulting over a low wall at the other side of the building and landing easily on the next roof over. There was no alley between those two neighbors, and I couldn't help a small grin as I jumped off the end of _that_ building and landed in a roll on the next.

Risking a glance over my shoulder, I had barely enough time to register a tongue flying in my direction before I was diving out of the way. My foot skidded across loose gravel, and suddenly I was going too fast and too far to stop. One leg slid right off the roof, and I hit the edge of the gutter flat on my back, rolling into open air with a yelp.

I landed badly on my shoulder, my armor making a horrible grinding noise as it buckled from the impact. Noelle was still right above me—I could actually see bits of her poking off the roof, her tongues trailing down the side of the building like strands of ivy. I struggled gracelessly back to my feet, realizing with a grimace that my right arm wasn't working very well. There wasn't any tingling to suggest that I'd hurt myself, but the exoskeleton was definitely damaged. I could barely move it, and it was jerky and unresponsive.

Adding it to the veritable laundry list of repairs I'd need to do when all this was over, and resolving never to fall off a roof again if I could help it, I took off down the street. I spared a glance behind me just as Noelle hit the ground, landing with a thud that shook the ground. I tried to pick up speed, but my exoskeleton was already giving me all it could.

She was faster than me. I knew that, which was why I'd been roof-hopping—she was heavier, too, and had a harder time navigating the strange paths I'd been able to take. Even then it hadn't worked that well, and I knew I couldn't outrun her like this. Already she was starting to catch up, I could see her tongues reaching for me out of the corner of my eye.

Making a split-second decision, I turned suddenly so that I was facing a worn-down apartment complex as I skidded to a halt. Kicking out, I smashed my foot through a grimy looking window on ground level, one that was barely large enough for me to squeeze through. Then I squirmed my way inside, doing my best to compensate for my busted arm.

Noelle caught up to me just as I'd gotten all the way through into a musty hallway. One of her tongues was stuffed into the gap, but I just dodged out of the way and bolted down the hall.

Inside, there was a cape in a rust-red bodysuit facing off against a slender clone. I flinched as I entered, and was hit with a wave of heat so intense it felt almost like a physical punch. The hero, or maybe villain, cried out as I entered, and nearly managed to trip over an antique-looking table.

I kept going, pausing only to bodycheck the clone into a wall as I ran past it. Sweat was already soaking into the clothes I wore under my exoskeleton, and as I made contact with the thing I could actually see my armor start to glow. Swearing, I sprinted to the end of the hallway and kicked open the last door on the right. My eyes alighted almost immediately on another window at the back of what looked like a child's bedroom. Smashing through it was just as easy the second time, and soon I was on the street on the other side of the building.

Glancing from side to side, I picked a street and began running as fast as I could. The second I saw an open alley, I dodged down it and kept going. Soon, I came upon a massive pile of rubble obstructing the street. Grabbing at it, I scrambled awkwardly up and over, doing my best to use my legs to compensate for my busted arm. The metal plating on my shins slipped and skidded whenever I tried to rest weight on it, so I had to angle myself so that my boots could slip into cracks in the material.

Eventually, I reached the top, and let myself roll to the bottom, landing with a heavy thump and a rush of tingling along my back. Hopefully I hadn't broken anything important. I was just about to pull myself to my feet, to start running again, when I realized that Noelle still hadn't come into the mouth of the alley. Her footsteps were growing closer, but I froze myself in place for a second. My breathing sounded very loud to me all of a sudden, despite the distant explosions I could still hear. I honestly had no idea if this would even work, or if she had some kind of secondary hearing ability like Lung, but I didn't really like my chances if I had to keep running.

Noelle approached, closer and closer, until she must have been right at the alley. I imagined I could feel her gaze sliding over the rubble between me and her, then past it and into the alley behind me. She didn't slow her pace at all, just kept coming nearer, and _nearer._ And then, her strange writhing footsteps were growing quieter, until finally I let myself release a breath of stale air I'd barely noticed I was holding.

As the sound of Noelle's pursuit began to fade, I let myself collapse backwards against the rubble. Panting heavily to try and get my breath back, I stretched out my bad arm as best I could. It still wasn't responding, thought that wasn't exactly surprising, since my exoskeleton couldn't heal itself like my flesh-and-blood body could.

I knew I should probably try to get back into the fight—it was far from over, though Panacea was hopefully far out of the way by now. At the very least I should run, grow the distance between me and Noelle as much as I could. But I wanted to rest a moment longer, hoping to recuperate a little energy before I went back to fighting for my life.

It started with a small chuckle. Despite the chaos, it was kind of nice just being outside, with the open air in my lungs. The laugh grew out from there, as adrenaline and terror and the sheer rush of freedom that came from being above ground all mixed together. It was shrill and brittle, and probably more than a little hysterical—but it felt amazing. I slid down the side of the car onto my butt, propped up with my head resting on the door, shoulders shaking as I giggled.

"Should we be worried?" asked a voice above me. I glanced up, and startled slightly when I realized that Aegis and Tattletale were both standing in the street, staring at me with varying levels of amusement and concern. I cut myself off, coughing awkwardly into the sudden silence.

"It feels kind of good to not be running for my life," I admitted. Tattletale raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"Why _aren't_ you running for your life, anyway?" she asked instead, glancing around at the mostly empty street.

"I lost Noelle," I replied. "Ran through a building, smashed a window to get out the other side, she couldn't follow me."

"Good thinking," Aegis said, nodding approvingly.

"It's good you've had some time to rest," Tattletale observed. "We need to do something about Trickster."

I blinked. "Who?"

"Noelle's teammate," Aegis said. "The teleporter."

 _So that's his name._ I nodded to show that I'd understood.

"The thing is, no one seems to be able to get a lock on him—he's wearing an armband, so the out-of-city capes are having a hard time recognizing him. The fact that he keeps swapping people around is only making things harder. He's busy trying to evade all the fliers for the moment, but he needs to be taken out, or else fighting Noelle is going to be even harder than it has to be."

"So you want to do something about it?" I guessed.

Tattletale grinned. "We need you to get Noelle to move away from him. Just keep running the same direction you have been, and Aegis and I will deal with Trickster." She paused, cocking her head to the side as if thinking. "Actually, Aegis will deal with Trickster. I'll be finding other fliers to help him." Her smirk had reappeared at full strength, though to me it looked a little strained.

"Okay," I said, nodding slightly to myself as I digested that information. "I just get Noelle to chase me, right?"

"Point her that way," Tattletale confirmed, gesturing in roughly the same direction I had been going. "Just until we can deal with Trickster."

"Right," I agreed, voice getting a little dry. "Nothing difficult about that." Tattletale at least had the decency to look apologetic.

She looked like she was about to say something else—as if I actually needed convincing. Herding Noelle around wasn't really that difficult, if you ignored the life-threatening danger. She went right to me, no matter where I ran. It was staying ahead of her that would be the problem.

"All I'm asking for is five, ten minutes," Tattletale told me. "Eidolon will be here by then, and..." she trailed off, her grin starting to slip. "Trickster needs to be either gone or otherwise occupied when that happens, or he might swap Eidolon into Noelle's range."

My eyes widened in sudden realization. "Oh," I said, dumbly.

A wave of exhaustion seemed to crash over me, but I pulled myself back upright anyway. It wasn't really tied to my body, at least I didn't think so. I probably needed to eat, badly if my past experience with my armor was anything to go by, but mostly the tiredness was in my head. I just had to get myself to focus, and then I could keep going.

"I'll distract her," I said finally, straightening up to my full height.

Tattletale gave me a mock salute and a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and she and Aegis lifted off again. I could already hear distant noises, blaster powers and heavy footfalls, that told me Noelle was nearby. Finding her wouldn't be hard.

"Right," I said aloud, poking at my defunct shoulder. "No problem."


	22. Wiggling on a Fishhook

**Hey! It's technically not Monday yet, but tomorrow is going to be kind of hectic for me, so I figured I may as well just put it up a bit early. Or I guess I could wait like twenty minutes until midnight, but that would be kind of silly.**

* * *

I hadn't expected locating Noelle to be difficult. But by the time I actually tried, I found that it would be even easier than I'd thought. She was loud, of course, I'd known that. What I hadn't realized was that if I just looked up, I could find the place where the stray blaster powers and explosions were the thickest, and head in that direction. It was like a giant arrow over her head.

It wouldn't be a problem _finding_ Noelle—the problem was forcing myself to try. The same exhaustion I'd noticed earlier hadn't dissipated, and it was getting frustrating trying to shake the cobwebs from my mind. Adrenaline would do that, I was sure. It was nice to know that it still had _any_ purpose, when I was wearing my exoskeleton. But I was already starting to come down from earlier, and I was just so _tired._ Yet here I was, getting ready to throw myself into another life-or-death fight, when all I really wanted to do was curl into a ball somewhere and go to sleep. Every step felt like I was dragging myself along, forcing my legs to move.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. The exhaustion was still _mental,_ I knew. I just needed to stay focused, and I could push past it. Speeding myself up, I glanced around me, found the highest concentration of light and noise in the sky, and adjusted my course. It wasn't that far, now.

 _Orbit deceased, CD-6,_ my armband said, still in Dragon's pleasant voice. I grimaced, glad I'd been a bit too focused to notice that feature while I was fleeing from Noelle. I didn't really want the running commentary.

I took a few more steps, then half-turned as I noticed a flash of white in the corner of my eye. Almost instantly, I recognized Glory Girl's white costume as she dropped down out of the sky, and did my best to make room for her to hover near me. I didn't stop, though—there wasn't a lot of time left before Eidolon would get here. Instead I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me, picking my way along the street and avoiding the deeper pools of water.

"Hey!" Glory Girl called out, as soon as she was close enough.

My only warning after that was a slight whistling sound in my right ear, and then a deafening _clang_ as I was thrown forward. I hit the ground headfirst, skidding forward a few feet before coming to a stop face-down in half a foot of filthy water.

Groaning, I flipped myself over and got shakily to my feet. Distracted, I tried to use my right hand to balance myself. It jerked a bit, powered only by my own flesh and blood arm, but the armor on the was too heavy for it to move properly. I wobbled violently, before managing to steady myself with my other hand.

Only then did I look up, and see Glory Girl standing over me.

"Did you know Tattletale was going to shoot her?" she asked. I could tell she was gritting her teeth, just by the way it muffled her voice.

Realization hit me almost as hard as she had. "No!" I blurted, a bit too quickly. "She was just trying to—"

"I don't care. You swear you had nothing to do with it?" I nodded.

"Good. What are you doing running around out here?"

"Trying to find Noelle," I replied. "Weren't you staying with Panacea?"

She shook her head. "Amy is sleeping right now, she'll be fine. I figured I was needed out here." Her voice sounded odd, almost strained.

I nodded, deciding now wasn't a good time to pry, and started running again. Glory Girl followed a feet above the ground, glancing down at me with a concerned look on her face.

"What's with your arm?" she asked. _Funny, coming from the girl who just punched me in the head._

"It got damaged when I fell off a roof. The arm itself is fine, but the armor isn't responding."

"Do you need an evac, then? That's pretty much all I can help with, since I can't really get close..." she trailed off, pulling a face so exaggerated that I could read it easily even from several yards away.

"No," I replied. "I'm trying to get Noelle's attention."

 _"Why?"_

"T—" I cut myself off suddenly, realizing that if Glory Girl had been that upset with _me,_ then she probably wouldn't want to hear about anything Tattletale had thought or said. "To get her away from Trickster," I blurted instead, wincing at the awkward semi-stutter. She didn't seem to notice.

"He might be able to teleport Eidolon or one of the other Triumvirate members into Noelle's range. So I'm supposed to keep Noelle away from him for a few minutes while they fight him."

"How are you planning to do that?" she asked, looking me up and down and raising an eyebrow. I flushed, grabbing my injured arm reflexively.

"I'll figure something out," I snapped.

"Need a lift?"

I sighed, and nodded. Glory Girl slowed down to the point where I could grab onto her wrist with my good arm, and I was lifted gently into the air. Well, gently compared to the last few times, all of which seemed to involve falling onto something hard. I dangled at an awkward angle, but I could actually hold up my own body weight one-handed.

"That way," I said, and tried to lift my free arm—but the limb was already far past its limits, in terms of moving the metal armor on its own. All it did was flop pathetically at my side. Grunting in annoyance, I jerked my chin in Noelle's the general direction. After all, with the lightshow up above her, the general direction was all Glory Girl really needed.

"Got it," Glory Girl called back, and sped off over the rooftops.

Glancing down, I could see evidence of the battle everywhere. There were a lot more clones than I'd originally thought, spread out across a few dozen city blocks. When had Noelle _made_ them all? She'd obviously grabbed at least a few of them on her way to the command center, and maybe more before she figured out where that was in the first place, but it was incredible to think she'd done so much so quickly. It was a daunting sight, especially since we'd have to wipe them all out before we could reclaim the city.

As we drew nearer to the epicenter of the fight, there were more and more capes fighting up in the air, forcing Glory Girl to duck and weave between them. I gritted my teeth every time she swerved, clutching her arm tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

"Relax," she shouted over the wind. "Unless you want to break my wrist, too."

I obeyed as best as I could, though with how high up we were there was a hard limit to how gentle I was willing to be. My right arm was still dangling uselessly, and my left hand was starting to sweat through its glove.

We skimmed over the top of a mid-sized office building, so close that I could almost touch the roof with the tips of my toes. Then, we were hovering over the street beyond, and I could see Noelle charging down the road, howling and gibbering at the capes arrayed around her.

For a moment, I made an uncomfortable comparison between my own situation and a worm wiggling on a fishhook—but it was a little late for second thoughts by then.

As soon as we were in Noelle's field of vision, I screamed, "Hey!"

Her heads darted up in ragged unison, and I felt my throat go dry at the sight. Changing course almost instantly, she barreled towards us like a runaway train, completely ignoring the other capes around her.

Glory Girl started flying away as soon as we'd been seen, with me still dangling by one arm at her side. I craned my neck to look below us, and saw that Dragon's suits were still harassing Noelle. Even as I watched, one of them made it past her tongues and slammed into her midsection, making her cry out in anger and frustration. It emerged a moment later, holding a cape dressed from head to toe in black.

Feeling invigorated by the small victory, I actually grinned a little at the sight. Then, I glanced up momentarily to try and see where we were going—and caught sight of a tall figure, naked from head to toe. Strange, scaly growths ran up and down his arms and chest, and his eyes were sunken so far into his head that all I could see were dark shadows in his skull.

"Behind you!" I shouted, but before Glory Girl could dodge around him he reached out and _pulled._ She began drifting towards him, grunting with the effort of fighting the effect. I felt myself swinging in the open air as the strange force pulled me towards the clone. I jerked instinctively, and felt my hand start to slip off of Glory Girl's arm.

I tried to hold on tighter, casting a terrified glance down at the street, at least eight stories down. My gauntlet had plenty of traction due to little rubber strips on its fingertips, but with my whole body swinging it wasn't enough. Her fingers slipped through mine, and then I was falling.

I screamed, spinning in midair as the ground rushed toward me. My left arm was thrown out, seeking for anything I could grab onto. Something rushed past me on my right, and I groped for it with my other hand. The motion was sluggish and awkward, but I felt my palm connect with something hard, and for a moment my momentum was slowed.

My shoulder vibrated violently, pins and needles spreading all the way down my arm and back up again. It gave out completely, slipping free from its hold. Then I was falling again. I thrust out my other arm, grunting as it slammed into the railing a floor below. My hand closed around it and I swung bodily into the building, my legs dangling freely in the air as I panted for breath.

Glancing down, I felt my head spin. It wasn't that far down, compared to other places I'd been—one memorable visit to Alan Barnes' workplace came to mind—but it turned out that even a transparent window did a lot to make the distance less frightening.

 _Aegis down, CD7,_ my armband announced. I cursed—half out of worry, and half from frustration. If I had a hand free to push the buttons, I could have called for a flier, but that wasn't an option anymore.

I fought down a sudden urge to try and tear the thing off, though the fact that my right arm had stopped working made the impulse a lot easier to ignore. Instead I started swinging my feet back and forth like a pendulum. The railing above me creaked alarmingly, but held.

When I thought my feet were far enough under the overhang, I let go. The fall was short this time, and I landed on my back, directly on the next balcony's raailing. It gave out with a metallic shriek, but when I slipped off of it I landed on solid ground, which was good enough. Something smashed, and when I looked up I saw bits of shattered china on the ground. Probably someone's abandoned teacup.

Hauling myself back upright, I tried the door and found that it was unlocked. Sliding it back, I was met with the inside of someone's apartment. A pile of Legos was scattered on the floor, looking more lonely than a heap of plastic bricks had any right to.

The only warning I got that something was wrong was a loud _clang_ from outside. I turned, only to see the tip of a tongue slam into the doorframe, blasting the sliding door off its hinges. I barely avoided being hit as it sailed past me, and then the tongue was there, squeezing through the gap. Vaulting over a nearby coffee table, I watched as it paused about halfway into the room, straining in place.

 _How the hell?!_ I was too high up for this, wasn't I? Then again, maybe I was—it wasn't pursuing me anymore. The only explanation I could think of was that it had run out of reach. Even so, I backed up a little more, and scanned the room for something to use as a weapon.

 _Trickster down, CC-6,_ my armband blared. _Aegis deceased, CC-6._ My breath caught in my throat—and Noelle _screamed._ I clutched my left hand over one ear instinctively as the cry went on, and _on._

The tongue retreated for a moment, and I stood stock still, ears peeled for a sign that it was returning.

Then, the front wall _shattered._

Chunks of plaster flew from their places and rammed into me, bowling me over. I landed in a sitting position, head ringing and with the familiar painless itch running up and down... my entire body, as far as I could tell.

For a moment I lay still, struggling to put my scattered thoughts back together.

 _Trickster deceased, CC-6,_ the armband said. There was another loud noise, one that I couldn't identify through the ringing in my ears. Again, I tried and failed to cover them with one hand, and winced at the tingling in my eardrums. The sound persisted, until it was joined by a loud impact and several glass windows shattering.

I blinked my eyes open, staring blearily at the destruction in front of me. The whole front part of the apartment was scattered across the carpet, and I could actually see Noelle's tongue probing at the hole. It took a moment to process, to connect that to the sudden implosion, and realize that she'd just knocked half the room down.

A warning judder from the building beneath me forced me to my feet. I had no idea whether that had been a load-bearing wall, or if Noelle was still trying to tear apart the building.

I'd done my part, anyway. Someone had killed Trickster, now all I needed to do was get the hell out of here.

Tripping over bits of rubble, I stumbled out of the apartment and into the hallway. The building shook again. I tried to pick up the pace, but it turned out there was a limit to how fast I could move in a tiny apartment where I had to keep moving around tight corners.

I finally made it to the stairwell, and began taking the stairs four and five at a time, using my left arm to brace myself against each turn of the stairs. It was harder than it would have been, since the railing was on my right, but I managed not to brain myself on the steps, at least.

About half a flight down, my armband crackled to life again.

 _Legend en route, ETA two minutes._ I blinked. Hadn't he already been here? Then again, I could remember Alexandria saying something about how he and Eidolon were on their way from some confrontation elsewhere.

Two flights down, and I saw why the building had been shaking so much.

Noelle had torn into one corner of the first floor lobby, and was ramming her entire weight against it, over and over. Plaster was already falling to the ground in sheets, and the building rumbled ominously again.

I glanced toward the door, and found that Noelle's massive bulk was blocking the entire front wall. It looked like I needed to make my own exit.

Sprinting to the back of the room, I found several windows set high into the wall. They were smaller than I'd have liked, but I grabbed a chair from the waiting room anyway.

Balancing on the back of a folding chair was an... odd experience. Dangerous, obviously, though considering my situation the idea of hurting myself falling off a chair was laughable. But it also reminded me of how many times I'd done this before, when I was too short to reach the snacks, grabbing a seat from the kitchen and using it like a ladder.

There were some... cosmetic differences between then and now. I smashed in the window with a fist, then grabbed a hold of the sill with my left hand. My right still wasn't cooperating, so I did my best to jump up with both legs and force my head and shoulders through, so that I could at least balance myself. The chair toppled to the floor.

As I was groping at the outside of the building for a handhold, I felt the room shake again, more violently this time. Broken glass scraped against my gauntlets, and I forced one shoulder all the way through the window. Then my center of gravity finally tipped over the edge, and I flopped awkwardly onto my back in the street.

 _Legend has arrived,_ the armband said. _Eidolon ETA four minutes._ I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut to try and dispel the mild dizziness caused by the less-than-graceful landing.

The ground was still shaking, so I rolled over and stumbled upright, staggering away from the building as quickly as I could. It collapsed soon after, with a tremendous noise and a rumble I could feel in my bones. By then I was sprinting again, hoping to gain some distance before Noelle could extricate herself from the ruins of the apartment complex.

I was just starting to catch the ominous sounds of shifting rubble behind me, when I heard someone call my name. Glancing around, I blinked in surprise—it was the metal man from earlier, gesturing at me from the doorway of a distressed-looking warehouse. "In here!" he shouted, glancing furtively back at where Noelle was fighting to get loose.

Still sprinting, I did my best to skid into a turn and dove for the warehouse door. The man stood well back as I ducked past him, careening into a wall and knocking over a shelf full of what looked like empty paint cans.

"We need to keep going," someone else said from behind him, a female cape with a crossbow slung across her back. I didn't recognize her in the slightest, though judging by her purple color scheme she was probably a hero—they tended to use brighter colors. Then again, Harrison had been dressed in silver from head to toe, so I supposed I shouldn't assume.

"There's a back door," the metal man replied, gesturing behind him. We started running towards it, and I couldn't help but wince at the sounds of his footsteps hitting the concrete floor. I guessed my own were doing the same thing, though I was definitely a lot lighter than he was.

We reached the other door just as the wall we'd been running from toppled inwards, and Noelle went sprawling into the warehouse. A series of rapid bursts of light and sound followed her, toppling her over again and nearly severing several of her forelegs.

"It's Legend!" the girl shouted, though I could barely hear her. "Keep going!"

I wasn't planning on doing stopping to watch, though I didn't bother telling her that. Instead I burst through the door, and out once again into the weak sunlight. The noise of Legend's attack was tremendous, and there was enough dust in the air before long that I was struggling to see more than a dozen yards in front of me.

The metal cape ducked left down a side street, and I followed closely on his heels—too close, apparently. My shoulder bumped his, and I found myself being dragged along as he leapt away from me. With a yelp, I was pulled halfway off my feet so that I was hanging off of him, still stuck to his side.

"What the hell?!" I yelled, struggling to pull myself away.

"We can't fix it now," he shouted back. "Just keep going!"

That was far easier said than done. The swinging motions of his arms as he ran never quite synched up with my own, and I found myself being pulled this way and that, always off-balance.

Beside us, the woman was having her own problems with keeping up. She obviously couldn't hold a flat-out sprint for several minutes without tiring, and already she was slowing down and panting for breath.

"Flechette, the metal man said, at a more normal volume now that we were farther from Noelle and Legend. "You can slow down now, I think we're far enough."

"Don't stop," I warned. "The more space between us and her, the better."

"She needs to rest," he replied. "And we... should get unstuck."

"We can walk, at least." He nodded, and slowed to a brisk, but manageable pace.

"What _is_ this?" I asked, tugging on my arm.

"It's my power. I can let go of it, but it might take a while."

"Don't bother," I told him. "I'll just detach the armor there."

"Are you sure?"

"Arm's useless anyway," I said. It was lucky it had been my right, too, since otherwise I would have been more or less powerless until I could separate us. Fitting actions to words, I did my best to unfasten that particular section of armor. There were a few screws that proved to be somewhat tricky, but I started teasing them out with my fingers—the metal plating covering them had ridges somewhat similar to fingernails, which made it easier.

"Useless how?" the metal cape asked, concern thick in his voice. I blinked, mentally rewinding a few seconds to remember his question.

"It broke," I explained. "The armor, I mean." Possibly the arm, too, though I decided not to mention that. Besides, if it were broken I would probably be feeling a lot more of my muted pain response.

"So... what are your names?" I asked, as I was fiddling with the last screw.

"I'm Weld," the man answered.

"Flechette," the girl added, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the firefight in the distance.

"Got it," I said, and grunted as the armor plate finally popped loose.

"Is there anything you can do about your arm?" Weld asked, as he took a few steps away from me.

"Not right now. It'd take a while to find the problem." If I actually got out of this alive, I would rather scrap the whole thing and start over. As much as I liked my exoskeleton, it was tied far too closely with Coil and Harrison. Besides, I'd never liked the style much—too much focus on the armor plating.

"We should keep going, then," Weld said. "Eidolon will be here soon, and we don't want to get caught up in his fight."

 _Eidolon arrived,_ our armbands chirped, not even a second later.

"Shit," I blurted, and craned my neck upward to try and spot him.

It didn't take long—whatever blaster power he was using made an ear-splitting shriek not unlike the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

He was far too close for comfort, and coming nearer even as I watched. Weld and I started sprinting again, and as I saw Flechette starting to lag behind I grabbed her arm and dragged her along. I knew the Triumvirate hero wouldn't attack us, or allow us to get caught in the crossfire by accident—but that didn't mean I wanted to hang around a cape fight on that scale. Legend had been destructive enough, and from what I'd read about him Eidolon's powers were almost as unpredictable as they were powerful.

We kept going, with Flechette gripping my arm as we went and Weld doing his best to keep at least five or six paces between us. Then, just as we were crossing the street to avoid a massive pickup that had ridden up onto the sidewalk, Flechette called out a warning.

I whirled, dropping her hand to free my only working arm, then raising it defensively in front of me. For an instant, I froze, looking frantically around.

"What—" I started to say.

Then I realized that Flechette was pulling at my shoulder, trying to get me to move. And, out of the corner of my eye, I could see a rapidly approaching wall of what looked like some kind of heat haze.

"Go!" Weld shouted—and the wave crashed over us.

* * *

 **I didn't really want to end there, but I ran out of time and patience.**

 **This arc... is kicking my ass. I _know_ that this was a weak chapter, mostly because the whole time I was writing it, I was just... drifting. It's a mess, and honestly I don't have anything to blame except poor planning. I _do_ have much better and more solid ideas for the stuff that comes after this... it's just that getting there is starting to feel like pulling teeth. To be clear, it's not going to die just yet, there's no way in hell I'm giving up when I'm _this close,_ and I'm not slowing down either, because drawing it out would be worse. I guess I just want to say that _this_ is precisely why I really wish I'd planned all this better from the start. Or, you know, _at all._ I... don't think I'm actually the impromptu 'wing it' kind of writer. Plans are nice, and prevent bullshit like this from happening. _Ugh._**


	23. A Huge Metal Puppy

**...Technically, it's Monday in Australia.**

* * *

I awoke to the sound of voices, fuzzy and indistinct.

My eyes drifted open, and for a moment all I could see was blinding white. I squinted, feeling a low buzzing behind my eyes. I tried to shift to my side, to look away from the light, but my arms wouldn't move. Sudden panic washed over me as I stiffened. I jerked in place, kicking out reflexively as I tried to focus on my surroundings, and identify the thing pinning me down.

Another second of blurriness and light, and the garbled sounds around me were pulled into focus.

"—ear me? Cobalt?"

I groaned, the closest thing to human speech I could manage at the moment. Whatever was pinning me down shifted, and I found myself tilting alarmingly to the side, staring down at a white-tiled floor. I didn't fall, though—there was something stuck to me.

A face leaned into my field of vision—red hair, I thought, though its features were nothing but a vague pink blob.

"Cobalt?" it said. I flinched back, and the back of my helmet crashed into something solid.

"Shit!" yelped another voice, behind me this time. I tried to turn to look, but my head wouldn't move. Trying to bring my hands up to push at the obstacle was useless—they still weren't moving, _nothing_ was moving.

"Lemme go!" I shouted, twisting as much as I could in my limited range of motion.

"We need you to calm down," the face said. It was less blurry now, but still _off,_ like the image was fractured somehow. Crossing my eyes revealed the problem—there was a crack in my visor.

"Why can't I move?" I demanded. "What did you do to me?!"

"Um," said the voice behind me, sounding sheepish. "My fault, sorry. I had to carry you and Flechette, and... well..."

I strained my head to try and look around, but all I managed to do was twist my head so that I was looking at the inside of my helmet. "Who is that?"

"It's Weld," he said. "Hang on, I'm trying to get un-stuck." Understanding dawned in the calmest parts of my mind, slowly spreading until the fight-or flight reflex relaxed again.

"Can you remove your armor?" asked the face, who I could now see was wearing a set of hospital scrubs—probably a nurse or something, then.

"Yeah," I grunted, and gave the mental command. There was a series of metallic clicks _,_ as the clamps on my armor unlocked. For a moment, I squirmed in place, trying to free myself from the suit.

"Do you need help?" asked the nurse politely. I grimaced, then tried to nod, only to be pulled up short by Weld.

"Yes."

The nurse bent over me, running his hands along the base of my helmet. "I can't seem to find—"

"A little to the left," I supplied. "Right at the base of the neck."

A small _pop,_ and the helmet slid up about an inch.

"Weld? Would you mind leaning forward a little?" the nurse asked. The helmet bumped me on the nose as it was lifted over my head.

I blinked, wincing as the world went slightly out of focus. The visor had been correcting my vision, and I didn't have my glasses on me.

The nurse leaned out of my field of view for a moment, before placing something gently on my face. Its general shape suggested a domino mask—and I realized too late that I'd just shown my face to a complete stranger. At least he was a nurse, and not another cape.

"Can you get my right arm?" I asked, in the hope of removing the rest of the armor myself and avoid similar slipups.

The nurse gave me a puzzled look. "Your right arm isn't stuck to anything," he said. I stiffened in surprise, before remembering the latter half of the fight—of course it wasn't moving. I tried to wiggle my fingers, only to wince as pins and needles spread all the way up my arm.

"The armor is broken," I blurted, clenching my left fist. "And... I don't think I can move my arm that well."

Some of the alarm I was feeling must have shown in my voice, because he gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"I'll start looking at your arm as soon as we get this armor off, alright?"

"Okay."

I gritted my teeth as he walked in a slow circle around me, bending and snapping off clamps here and there as he went. Finally, after what felt to my increasingly anxious mind like an eternity, he released the last clasp, just above my ankle.

"That's all of them," I said. "Can you open the armor up a little, so I can get out?" The nurse obliged, and soon I was standing shakily on both legs, leaning back at an awkward angle. I reached up and slid the control node out of my neck, wincing at the noise it made, then straightened. Pain, real pain, began as a sharp twinge in my right shoulder, fading to a dull ache in my upper back, my head, my legs—I was probably bruised all over.

Weld and the nurse both made small, strangled exclamations of disgust as I disconnected the armor. I ignored them, choosing instead to turn and survey the damage.

My exoskeleton was splayed almost cross-eagled along Weld's back and shoulder, with my helmet fused to the back of his head. He was still kneeling in an awkward position, presumably from when I'd been lying down on the cot.

"You can get up," I said, leaning down to examine the armor more closely. The helmet was scrap metal at this point—with the shattered visor, and the fact that I really didn't know how badly the surface that had bonded to Weld would warp once he'd let it go. The breastplate probably would be fine, beyond minor cosmetic damage.

"Cobalt?"

I started, turning back to face the nurse again.

"Let me have a look at your arm," he said. I nodded, and he began poking at the limb with warm, gentle hands. If I hadn't felt so gross after sleeping in muddy, salt-stiffened clothes that would definitely need to be burned at some point, it might have been nice. As it was, it felt more uncomfortable than anything else.

"What happened to Noelle? Did we win?" I asked, fidgeting in the nurse's grip.

"Yeah," Weld said, from my other side. "Eidolon and Legend beat her pretty quickly. All that's left is cleaning up the clones."

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. Despite knowing they were two of the most powerful heroes in North America, and possibly the world, I hadn't been sure.

The nurse threaded a few fingers through my right hand, bringing my attention back to him. "Try and squeeze, as hard as you can."

I clenched a fist, and felt a rush of relief as the hand responded. My grateful sigh turned into a strangled yelp as the nurse squeezed my shoulder. "Does this hurt?"

"Yeah," I managed. "It feels sore."

"Lift your arm up, as high as you can." I complied, hissing in pain as I did so. It reached about head height, before the pain in my shoulder flared and it dropped back to my side.

The nurse hummed thoughtfully. "You might have pulled a muscle, but it doesn't seem serious. I'd recommend putting some ice on it, and resting for a while until it feels better."

"Alright." I turned back to face Weld, then leaned in to start undoing the clasps on my breastplate.

"What are you doing?" he asked, twisting his head around as far as it would go.

"Separating the armor," I replied. "So that it's less bulky. Can you hand me a screwdriver?" The last bit I directed at the nurse, who handed me a Phillip's head with a bemused expression on his face.

I'd just finished pulling the armor off of Weld when the nurse spoke up again. "Do you have... anyone you'd like to call?" he asked. I froze, clenching my left hand into a fist. The only way he'd sound _that_ timid was if Weld had said something about Coil.

"I..." my voice cracked, and I had to stop to clear my throat. "Not right now."

The nurse frowned. "We need to make sure you're taken care of, okay Cobalt?"

"Yeah," I said, taking a step back. "Fine. I need to talk to someone first." Then I turned, and walked briskly out of the small, curtained-off room I'd woken up in. As soon as I ducked through the doorway, ignoring the nurse calling after me, I emerged into what looked like an actual hospital this time. Everything was still blurry without my glasses, but I could at least see well enough to walk.

I threaded my way through a chaotic jumble of makeshift cubicles for patients to stay in, similar to the last base, though this time there appeared to be a hallway leading out from the triage area and into... something else. It was only after I'd gotten halfway down the hall that I realized I'd never gotten the nurse's name.

"Hey!" A voice called after me. I paused, turning on my heel to watch Weld jogging down the hall.

"What?" I asked, then winced. That had come out more rude than I'd meant it to.

"I'm not supposed to leave you alone," he explained. "The Director wants to speak with you, once things calm down a little."

I glared at him. "I don't need a babysitter."

Weld winced. "That's... not what I meant, I'm sorry if it came out that way. It's just that they want to keep an eye on you until we find your parents."

"Parent," I said. "Singular."

His expression growing even more uncomfortable, Weld rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "Sorry."

I sighed. "Fine. I just... I'm not ready yet. I want to talk to someone first, before I call my dad."

"Who?" Weld asked, glancing around. That pulled me up short.

"I'm not really sure," I admitted. Who _else_ would I call? Emma? The idea was so absurd I almost laughed aloud.

Finally, I turned to Weld and asked, "Are any of the Protectorate around?"

The metal man shook his head. "They're out dealing with the last of the clones. The only reason I'm still here is, well, I couldn't exactly leave." He gestured vaguely at the space behind him, and by extension my helmet, still stuck to the back of his head.

"Right." I started walking down the hall anyway, because moving felt better than standing around.

"What do you want to do?" Weld asked, falling into step beside me. I frowned, running the idea through my head. What _did_ I want to do?

"I need a shower," I decided, running a hand through my hair. Between all the mud, blood, salt and silt I'd picked up during the fight, not to mention the plaster dust from that apartment Noelle had partially demolished, it had gone right past disgusting and into biohazard territory.

Then, my stomach growled like nothing human. I grimaced, realizing very suddenly just how hungry I actually was.

"Food first," I amended. "Then shower."

Weld chuckled. "I can probably arrange that."

We kept walking, finally ending up in a wide-open lobby full of capes I didn't recognize. I floundered for a moment, momentarily overwhelmed by the mass of people, but Weld's size had the nice effect of leaving a trail of empty space behind him as he moved through the crowd.

"Excuse me," Weld said eventually, stopping in front of an official-looking PRT officer. He had his helmet off, and an indication of rank on his shoulder—though I wasn't sure what it meant. "I'm Weld, from the Boston Wards, and this is Cobalt."

The officer turned towards us, and beamed. "Ah," he said, sticking out a hand toward me. "Deputy Director Renick. I was just about to come looking for you."

I blinked, staring at his hand for a moment before asking, "Why?"

His smile curdled a little at the edges. "You're the cape who brought Noelle to our attention, aren't you?" I nodded reluctantly. _Brought to their attention_ was a mild way of putting it.

"We are aware of your... extenuating circumstances," he continued. I shifted uncomfortably, watching as he finally gave up and dropped his outstretched hand.

Weld stepped forward and interjected, "We were wondering where Cobalt is supposed to be staying, until the battle ends."

Renick clasped his hands together. "Right. We should be able to put you up in the PRT building with the Wards, if that's alright with you."

I shrugged. Truth be told, I was already starting to feel the exhaustion of the fight, despite waking up from unconsciousness only minutes ago. All I wanted to do was shower, eat something, and pass out on an actual bed for the first time in weeks.

"Would it be alright if I led her there now?" Weld asked, still unfailingly polite.

The officer shook his head. "Director Piggot wants to speak to her first. But, after that, I don't see why not.

I slumped where I stood, squeezing my eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Food," I blurted. The other two both turned to stare at me.

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I clarified, "I need to eat first. My armor burns calories, and I was using it for hours this morning."

Renick nodded in understanding. "Of course." He craned his neck around, taking in the lobby with a glance. "There's a cafeteria on the second floor, though I'm not sure if it's open."

Nodding, to preserve at least the outward appearance of dignity, I turned and strode off toward the elevator. Food first. Then coherent thought.

I reached the stairway quickly, pausing only to glance over my shoulder and see that Weld was still following me like a huge metal puppy. Grimacing, I jogged up the stairs as best as I could. By the time I reached the top, my head was spinning.

"Careful," Weld said quietly, placing a hand against my back to steady me.

"...Thanks," I muttered, hunching my shoulders and ducking through the wide-open door.

The cafeteria was wide-open and airy, and surprisingly bright considering how gloomy the sky still was. Some of the thickest clouds Leviathan had summoned must have dissipated while I was unconscious. For a moment, I could barely see, and had to throw up an arm over my eyes and squint.

The place was nearly empty—probably because most people were still out fighting. What food there was seemed to be the easy to reheat, lasts forever on a shelf type. The whole fare screamed of being thrown together when the battle had gone on longer than anyone could have anticipated. I made a beeline for the counters, and found that there wasn't anyone else waiting, so I heaped up the nearest tray with everything I could reach—beans, vegetables, something vaguely meat-like in appearance, and a bottle of water.

Weld didn't take any for himself, instead following me as I moved to sit at the closest table. Ignoring him, I dug in with a fork and tore into the food. Microwaved crap had no business tasting _that_ good.

As soon as I was finished, I stood up for seconds, only to be interrupted by Weld.

"Are you sure you should be eating this much?" he asked. I glared at him. It was weird, I could almost picture myself as a rabid dog or something, growling whenever anything got close to my dinner.

"I've read that if you've gone a long time without food, you shock your system by having too much at once," he explained quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

"It's not like I haven't eaten in days," I said sullenly. "I just used a lot of energy."

"Oh."

The second tray disappeared in silence. By the time I was done with that, I actually felt something approaching human. I still wanted more, but Weld _did_ have a point. I hadn't exactly been eating well for the past month—except for Harrison's turkey sandwich.

Now that I wasn't moving, and my stomach finally felt full, I found myself struggling to stay upright. I groaned quietly, and settled my head on my arms.

"Do you want to go and find Director Piggot?" Weld asked. "Get it over with?"

I grunted an affirmative, and pushed myself back upright. We descended the stairs in more awkward silence. Weld seemed to be trying to make small-talk, but I found myself tuning him out completely. I didn't _mean_ to, but it was difficult to focus on him when all I really wanted to do was plop down on the nearest flat surface. It didn't take long before I reached the bottom of the stairs, stepped out into the lobby—

 _"You!"_

—and whirled around, arms raised and eyes flicking wildly around the room. For an instant, I thought Noelle must still be here, somehow. But the shout wasn't even directed at me, it had come from somewhere in the lobby. The small half-circle of startled bystanders let me see the exact location—and then I dove into the small crowd, shoving people out of my way as I sprinted toward the conflict. A familiar gnawing fear began prickling at the back of my mind, and I felt my heart sink.

Even before I emerged on the other side, I could see Glory Girl's blonde hair several feet over the heads of everyone else. She was hovering a foot or two of the ground, towering over a cape I recognized almost instantly as Tattletale.

From her expression, Glory Girl would already have beaten the villain into a bloody pulp if it weren't for the absolute hulk of a man that was holding her back. Rage had turned her face a luminescent red, and she was glaring at her target with single-minded intensity.

Tattletale was backing slowly away, eyes flicking rapidly around the room. "Calm down," she began, but she was cut off.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!" Glory Girl spat.

"Stop!" I shouted, rushing forward to fill the space between them. "Hang on!"

"No!" Glory Girl turned her glare on me, and the prickling of fear in the back of my head exploded into a white-hot wave of terror. I bent over, dry heaving for a moment as I tried to collect my scattered thoughts back together. Something white blurred towards me, and out of instinct I tried to reach out—only to be knocked sideways.

 _My armor,_ I thought, and slammed into the floor on my back. The air rushed out of my lungs and I lay gasping, pushing weakly at the ground in an attempt to rise.

There was a loud peal, like a bell being struck. Groaning, I turned my head to see Weld, standing protectively in front where Tattletale was sprawled on the ground. There was a fist-sized dent in his chest, but he didn't seem bothered—instead, he'd caught hold of Glory Girl's wrist.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"She tried to _shoot_ my _sister!"_ Glory Girl snarled. "Now get out of my way!"

"You _knew_ how dangerous it was to have her near Noelle!" Tattletale shot back from the floor. "It was _your_ job to get her the hell out of there!"

"We _tried!_ There were clones set up around headquarters, mostly of _my cousin._ I barely managed to get Amy and I away from them, her other guards _died._ That doesn't excuse trying to kill her!"

I groaned, pushed myself up onto my elbows, and began to work my legs back under me. Glancing up, I saw that Weld's expression was darkening by the minute. He turned his head and leveled a glare at Tattletale. "Explain," he said. "Now."

Tattletale's face twisted. "I warned them," she said hotly, "that if Noelle managed to clone Panacea we were _fucked._ Not just Brockton Bay, _everyone._ I never wanted it to get that far, but it _did,_ and it's a _miracle_ we're all even standing here!"

"You think I care?!" Glory Girl demanded. Another wave of fear crashed over me, and I flopped back to the floor, gasping.

"What are you doing?" Weld demanded. I looked up, meeting his eyes—I thought he might have been sneering, just for an instant, but the expression was gone and had never made much sense in the first place. My heart was hammering in my chest, enough that I could hear the blood in my ears.

"Aura," I croaked. "Stop."

Glory Girl turned, surprised, and seemed to take in the expressions on the faces of the people around us, and me lying on the ground. The fear lessened, and I struggled upright, still panting for breath.

"There's a truce, right?" I asked, "For fighting Endbringers?"

"I don't give a _shit!"_ she snarled, and lunched past Weld. Tattletale was still on the floor, unable to dodge, as Glory Girl charged toward her. I cried out in alarm, but even with my armor there was no way I would have been able to move fast enough.

Tattletale flinched—and Glory Girl twisted in midair, veering off into the ground and landing on her ass.

I blinked, confused, until a voice cut through the white noise of the crowd like a whip.

"Enough."

Looking up, I froze where I sat, staring wide-eyed as Alexandria strode into the room, glaring daggers at the four of us. A few dozen feet behind her was Regent, his hand outstretched and the closest thing I'd ever seen to actual emotion in his eyes. Just to his left was the front door, swinging wildly on its hinges.

"You're Weld. A Ward from Boston, correct?" Alexandria turned her gaze on him, and he nodded vigorously.

"I am."

She scowled. "I believe I already know what this is about. Tattletale attempted to shoot the healer, Panacea, during the fight. Correct?"

Tattletale nodded, looking wary.

Alexandria's frown deepened, but she only sighed and said, "Considering the circumstances, I don't believe the truce was violated. It is, unfortunately, similar to the sorts of measures that are taken during battles with the Simurgh.

"That said—" her gaze softened as she turned to Glory Girl, "Your anger is perfectly understandable. But save it for another time, or another place. Violence in the very hospital where we are treating our injured, people who risked their lives to protect _your_ city, will not be tolerated."

Glory Girl muttered something under her breath, but turned away and stalked off. Tattletale let out a huff of breath, half-collapsing where she sat.

"Thanks," she said, lifting her head to look towards Weld and I. He set his jaw, and didn't respond.

"You're welcome," I told her. She wasn't, I didn't want to make a habit out of defending her, but it was an automatic response. Besides, Glory Girl might actually have killed her, and she didn't deserve _that._

"Cobalt?" a new voice asked. I looked up, startled, and found myself staring at a PRT helmet. Unsure of how to respond, I just nodded.

"Director Piggot wants to see you," the agent said, gesturing toward the stairs.

I followed him up, and was grateful to see Weld trailing along behind me. That would get old fast, but for the moment I could admit that it was sort of comforting. Sometimes.

We climbed up to the fourth floor, and by the top of the final flight of stairs I was almost ready to keel over. The PRT agent knocked politely on a plain wooden door, saying, "Cobalt here to see you, ma'am." There was a word of assent from within, and the officer swung the door open and gestured for me to enter. I walked in—Weld didn't follow, choosing instead to hover uncertainly by the door. Then the PRT agent shut it behind me, and I was left alone with Director Piggot.

She was seated behind a functional-looking desk, in a room that was about as impersonal as it was possible to be. That made sense, I supposed, since this probably wasn't her office.

The woman herself was somehow imposing, despite being in a chair while I was standing. Plump, but with a sharp expression that left me feeling distinctly uncomfortable—like a bug in a jar. Leaning forward, she folded her hands and spoke.

"Cobalt. This is quite a mess, isn't it?"

And in eight words, my heart was already in my throat.

"I didn't mean—"

"I'm well aware of that," the Director said, waving a hand dismissively. "Echidna's rampage was entirely impossible for you to have predicted, and everything you did, you did to save a child."

Somehow, the pseudo praise made me _more_ nervous. Biting my lip, I asked, "Echidna?"

"Ah. Noelle's code name. More a formality than anything else, but it does suit her."

I frowned, remembering the texture of her tongues as they slid off my armor, the sound of them slapping against the ground. It was hard to imagine putting _any_ name to all of that. Echidna sounded too... distant. Too clean.

There was a moment of awkward silence, one that the Director seemed entirely unperturbed by.

"I've been briefed on your situation," Piggot said, finally. I broke eye contact, settling my gaze on a haphazard stack of folders on the corner of her desk.

"We know your identity," she continued. "Armsmaster made the connection shortly before Leviathan's arrival." Her expression twisted strangely at that. "We haven't contacted your father yet, Taylor, but I can call him now if you like."

"After," I croaked. "After we finish up here, I mean. I don't... I doubt I'd be able to think straight once I'd talked to him."

Piggot leaned back, her stern expression morphing into something almost approachable. "That won't be a problem," she said. "We can schedule another appointment in a few days. My main goal in talking to you is to make sure you're taken care of."

I shuffled my feet and nodded at the floor. She began dialing the office phone, and placed it against her ear. After a pause, she said, "Daniel Hebert? This is Director Piggot of the PRT."

Another pause. I could hear a muffled voice on the other end of the line, one that was achingly familiar. Then, Piggot actually smiled. "No, nothing like that. She's in the room with me, actually."

"What?" The reply was tinny, and so loud that I could hear it from across the room.

"Would you like me to put her on the phone?"

"Yes!"

The Director nodded, and extended the phone to me. I snatched it from her hand, and held it to my ear with a shaking hand.

"Hey, dad."

"Taylor?" His voice was exactly the same as I remembered. I blinked hard, gripping the phone tightly in my left hand.

"Yeah."

"Are you alright? Where are you? And what on earth happened?"

"I'm okay," I blurted, flustered by the onslaught of questions. "The PRT set up a temporary base at a hospital, I'm in an office there." I stopped, unsure of how to continue. How was I supposed to tell him that I'd been a supervillain for over a month? That I'd fought the Wards? What about Dinah, and what I'd done underground?! My vision grew even blurrier than it already was, and I blinked hard to try and steady myself.

On the other end of the phone, dad let out a shaky breath. "I'll be there as soon as I can. They still haven't opened up the shelter." He paused, worry palpable in his voice. "Where... where _were_ you?"

My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. I could hear him choking up on the other end of the line. I had to say _something!_

"It's a long story," I said, and heard his breath hitch. "I'm okay! I just... I'll tell you when I see you, I promise."

I could almost _feel_ the questions building in his head, in the moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, finally, he let out another breath. "Okay."

"Can... can I give you back to Director Piggot?" I asked. The woman blinked, straightening, and gave me an odd look.

"O-okay. I'll be here as soon as I can. I love you, Taylor."

"Love you too."

I handed the phone back, and slumped bonelessly into a nearby chair.


	24. How Are You Feeling?

**Okay, so I don't usually answer reviews in-chapter (Or, like, at all? What even is the protocol on that?), but a few people pointed out some plot holes (they breed in the shadows) that deserved some attention, so... here we go. Or skip to the story, that's cool too.**

 _ **lightning king**_ **pointed out that there's no way the power lines would be intact enough for Danny to get a call on his home phone, and that he wouldn't even have been evacuated from the shelter yet. Y'all have** ** _no idea_** **how ready I was to be all smug and go, "Nah, m8! He's not at home, he's still in the shelter calling on a cell... phone... MOTHERFU** — **"**

 **So Danny probably doesn't** **have** **one of those, my bad. But let's just say for the sake of argument that he bought one to be able to get updates from the police and/or PRT while he was at work (and how did his boss(es)** ** _not_** **make him get a work phone ages ago?!).**

 _ **EternityDragon2610**_ **said that it was weird that Taylor was just wandering around maskless and having people refer to her as Cobalt. She _does_ actually have a domino mask on, it was mentioned when the nurse was taking off her helmet, but they do have a valid point in saying that people probably wouldn't recognize her based on just that. Well, crap. But Reynolds would know that she was with Weld, Piggot knew in advance that she was coming, and Tattletale is Tattletale, so... I think I'm in the clear? Probably?**

 **Anyway, moving on!**

* * *

It was hard not to collapse out of sheer bliss when the scalding water hit my back. All the tension seemed to run off my body with the water, leaving me swaying drowsily under the spray.

I'd always loved hot showers. They were relaxing, obviously, but there was also something about them that made it easier to think. The drumming of each drop hitting the floor was a familiar white noise that calmed me down, and let me puzzle through some of what I was feeling.

That, and I'd been really, really gross.

Still, the hot water wouldn't last forever. After an indeterminate amount of time—probably more than and hour, if I were to guess—it began to cool off. I stayed in a while longer, partly out of stubbornness, but mostly because I didn't really want to face other people yet. It was only when I started shivering that I reluctantly shut off the water and stepped out into the empty Wards locker room.

Toweling myself off, I dressed in what Weld had told me were a spare set of clothes donated by one of the PRT agents. It wasn't something I'd normally wear—apparently it was part of a semi-formal uniform PRT officers would wear at formal parties—but it fit well enough and wasn't stiff with salt, so I didn't mind. There were even a pair of drug-store glasses, roughly similar to my prescription. I'd have to get new ones, and my vision was still a bit blurry, but it was a huge relief all the same.

The moment I stepped out of the locker room, I could feel curious eyes on me. Turning, I spotted a little girl in a domino mask. Probably Vista, since she was the only Ward that young.

"Hello," she chirped, her face morphing into some tortured mix between excitement and suspicion. The awkwardness was almost _palpable._

"Hi," I mumbled back, fighting down the urge to just walk away. I didn't really have the energy to talk to anyone at the moment, least of all a kid. Still, I'd have to deal with her eventually, and being a jerk the first time I met her wasn't a good way to start. Not really knowing what else to do, I stood silently and waited for her to take the initiative.

Nearly half a minute passed before she spoke again, her expression shifting into a narrow-eyed frown. It was more cute than intimidating—like being threatened by a butterfly. "You're Cobalt, right?" she asked. "Clock said you'd be here."

"Yeah," I replied, startled. It was disorienting, realizing that she knew who I was and had apparently been expecting me. In retrospect, it should probably have been obvious that Director Piggot would have warned the Wards about a random stranger that would be using their showers. Between the hours it had taken for the van that transported us here to pick its way through the ruined streets, Weld's crash course on the PRT building, and then the insanely long shower I'd just taken, there had been plenty of time for her to hear about it.

Looking at Vista, I could tell she was psyching herself up to tell me something. I cut her off, saying, "I should find Weld."

Even as the words left my mouth, I was surprised to find that I meant them. I'd been glad when he stopped following me around, but now I was floundering in an unfamiliar environment. As much as I didn't like having a babysitter, he was the only person around that I knew. That, and he'd already asked all the unpleasant questions.

"Oh," Vista said, perking up. "He's in the common room with Clockblocker and Kid Win. We're all meeting up there, to talk about..." she trailed off, and for a second I caught a glimpse of the way Dinah had looked, when she was solemnly relaying the odds of our survival.

 _Fuck,_ I thought. I didn't know how to deal with that—I'd have a hard enough time interacting with the rest of the Wards. With a defeated sigh, I asked, "Where's the common room?"

"This way," Vista replied, and took off down the hallway. I strolled after her, every two of my own strides easily matching three of hers, and I was suddenly reminded of how tall I actually was. I'd gotten used to having to look up at people, after spending so much time around capes like Coil and Weld who nearly towered over me.

After a few twists and turns that passed in a blur, we finally reached the Wards' common room. It was a wide-open space, with temporary 'rooms' sketched out by office dividers. Near the center of the massive room, a semi-circle of couches were clustered around a large television.

It was there that I spotted Weld—easy to do when he quite literally shone in bright light. He wasn't alone, either. I recognized one of the others as Flechette, even without her crossbow. The rest... well, there was Kid Win, the local Wards' tinker. Next to him sat Clockblocker, the boy whose arm I had injured during the attack on Arcadia.

And that was all. I stopped halfway through the room, feeling a sudden intense discomfort at the realization that Aegis ought to be here. I didn't even know how he'd died, only that it had been during the hunt for Trickster. There were other Wards as well, Gallant and Triumph, and the newest Ward, Shadow Stalker. Were they dead, too? I didn't want to ask, considering how dismal the mood already was.

"I found Cobalt," Vista said. Heads twisted around to look at me, and I shifted uncomfortably.

Weld gestured for me to take the seat between him and Flechette—something I was grateful for, since I'd never fought against them or their teammates.

Even with the friendly buffer, I regretted it almost the instant I sat down. Clockblocker had fixed me with a look that was downright _hostile,_ and easy to read even through the generic domino masks the Wards were all wearing. Kid Win seemed to be ignoring us all entirely, choosing instead to flip through a notebook he'd balanced on his thigh. I was more than a little bit jealous.

Vista plopped down next to Flechette, bouncing a little in her seat as she looked around the room. There was a long, awkward lull. Then, mercifully, Clockblocker broke the silence.

"Are you going to talk, or just brood?"

I cringed. As icebreakers went, that one left a lot to be desired. Weld seemed to want to say something in my defense, but instead of actual words he just made an irritated huffing noise. I didn't say anything, either.

Clockblocker was nothing like I'd expected, based on his portrayal in the media. I supposed this could be an example of celebrity personalities not matching up to real life, or maybe it was just that he'd been through a lot in the past few days. I _had_ beaten him up—what, yesterday?

"Sorry," I said, responding almost automatically to that train of thought. There was another moment of silence, before I added, "about your arm, I mean."

Clockblocker _stared._

"No problem," he replied, sarcasm thick in his voice. "It's not like I spent the night in the infirmary, or anything."

I gritted my teeth. "I didn't _want_ to fight you." The Ward opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by Vista.

"Come on," she groaned, exasperated. "It's been two hours. Can we just not fight until we've all slept?"

"Fine by me," Clockblocker said. "But why is _she_ here? Aren't we supposed to be decompressing?"

"I'd rather not be, actually," I decided.

Weld sighed. "Your dad is going to be here in... however long it takes to drive him the last couple miles. Probably around a half an hour. You should wait for him."

I bit my lip, feeling a sudden shock of... something. Reluctance, maybe?

"Fine," I said, because it was easier than trying to untangle the knot of confusing emotions I'd just unearthed.

There was another heavy silence.

Vista squirmed in her seat for a moment, before visibly giving up and turning to Kid Win. "What're you drawing?" she asked.

I smirked. That was one way to start an instant conversation. Before the rest of us could so much as blink, Kid win had launched into an explanation that was obviously flying far over Vista's head. I picked up bits and pieces—many of which were tantalizing enough to make me want to grab him by the collar and drag him into his workshop—but the majority of it wasn't quite close enough to my specialty for my power to translate for me.

Weld blinked at the pair of them, looking somewhere between confused and relieved, and turned toward me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, with ostentatious concern. I grimaced.

I was beginning to realize how complicated that question was. Deciding against delving into armchair psychology with a near-total stranger in a room full of people who had good reason to dislike me, I just said, "Fine."

He gave me a disbelieving look. I raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge me. He didn't.

"What are you guys doing here, anyway?" asked Flechette, thankfully drawing Weld's attention off of me. Even Kid Win broke off his explanation to listen.

"We're waiting for a debrief," Clockblocker said, leaning back against the couch.

"Does that mean they cleared out all the clones?"

Vista nodded, her expression turning solemn. "That's what Miss Militia told us, anyway. The Protectorate is doing another sweep, but that's just a precaution." I blinked, partly because it was odd hearing a twelve-year-old say 'precaution,' and partly in surprise over how quickly the clones had been cleaned up.

"So... it's over?" asked Kid Win.

"Yeah." Clockblocker said. He turned to look directly at me, making me grip the sleeve of my borrowed uniform. "But it still doesn't make any sense, and I think we deserve some answers."

"Didn't Miss Militia tell you anything?" I hedged, hoping to avoid another lengthy explanation.

"She hasn't done a debrief yet, and no one else seems to know what the hell is going on. One of the PRT agents told us there were 'extenuating circumstances,' but that doesn't _mean_ anything. What was that about Coil? Where's Sentry? What the fuck was that _thing?"_

I reeled for a moment, completely lost in the avalanche of questions. Vista, at least, took pity on me.

"Calm down, Clock," she pleaded. He scowled, but relented.

Then, they looked to me. Weld and Flechette were both casting curious glances my way as well, and even Kid Win turned his attention away from whatever he was working on. I took a shaky breath.

"Sentry's dead," I said, because that was the easiest question to answer.

"I'm sorry," Vista blurted, and I was surprised to see that she _did_ seem sincere. At Clockblocker's incredulous glare, she shifted uncomfortably and said, "I mean, I didn't _like_ him, but..." her voice petered off.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she managed, after a moment.

I _stared_ at her. Opened my mouth, then found that I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Closed it. It was only when I felt my nails digging into my palms that I realized I'd been clenching my fists.

"Don't be," I spat, once I'd steadied my breathing.

I glanced at Weld, hoping for some help with explaining everything. He returned the look, nodding encouragingly and _uselessly._

"Harrison wasn't my dad," I told them, resigning myself to another painful conversation. Clockblocker made a small, shocked noise, probably at the use of Sentry's real name. I ignored him. "He wasn't my uncle or anything either. He didn't even have powers, he was just some guy working for Coil."

"Coil?" Vista asked, confused. I fumbled for a moment, feeling that same sense of reluctance. Frustrated, I sighed and said, "It's complicated."

I didn't seriously expect the Wards to accept that, but the derisive snort from Clockblocker seemed a little unfair. Weld finally seemed to realize I was having trouble, and was giving me a worried look.

 _Fuck it,_ I thought.

"I wasn't working for Coil by choice," I said, almost robotically. "His mercenaries grabbed me off the street." It was becoming almost rehearsed, a nice abridged version of the story I could say quickly—sort of like ripping off a Band-Aid. But, of course, they _had_ to start asking questions.

"He _what?"_ Vista blurted, eyes wide. I didn't bother repeating myself.

"Why?" Clockblocker demanded, mere seconds later.

"I don't _know,"_ I said testily. "It's not like I asked." I _had,_ but Coil had never actually given me a straight answer. It didn't really matter anymore.

"How'd you get out?" This time it was Kid Win asking, and I found myself glaring at him.

"Leviathan. There was a leak, I just swam out."

"Did they catch him?" Vista was fidgeting with one of her gloves, and giving me a pitying look. My teeth started to grind.

"No," I gritted out. "He's dead." My right hand twitched from where it was clenched in my lap, as if gripping a phantom soldering iron.

Then, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Immediately I felt my body tensing, and shrugged it off violently. Weld startled, and drew away from me with a guilty look on his face.

"Where did Echidna come from?" Clockblocker demanded, but Weld held up a hand.

"I'm pretty sure that's what we're getting briefed on," he said. "Let's drop it, okay?"

Vista sat up straight, and nodded. "Of course. Sorry."

There was an _agonizing_ moment of silence.

"Has... has anyone seen the latest Aleph movie?" Flechette asked, braving the thick tension.

Weld stared at her. The local Wards stared at her. Even _I_ stared at her.

"There was a new Batman, right?" she continued. I think it was how viscerally uncomfortable she looked that did it—or maybe it was the mental image I'd suddenly gotten of her diving on top of some kind of embarrassment grenade, taking the blow for the rest of us. Either way, I couldn't help but laugh at the pained expression on her face.

"You know," Clockblocker said wryly, "most people talk about the weather."

"Shut up," Flechette snapped, burying her face in her hands.

"I did see it, if it helps," Weld told her.

"Lucky!" Vista seethed. "My parent's won't let me!"

"Seriously?" Clockblocker said incredulously. "It's not like it's rated R."

Vista crossed her arms and made a show of sulking. I felt myself starting to grin—but the expression was once again painfully familiar. I could remember Dinah, shivering on the floor—

"Weld?" I asked, turning my head to look at Weld. He cocked his head questioningly.

"What happened with the precog? Is she okay?"

"Who?" questioned Vista, cutting off the lighthearted banter. I winced, realizing a moment too late that I was about to kill the mood.

Blessedly, Weld did the explaining for me this time. "She's a little girl Cobalt met in Coil's base. That's who you meant, right?"

I nodded.

"I'm not sure," he said, frowning. "The last I heard, a flier was supposed to take her somewhere safe."

A flier had been supposed to take _Panacea_ somewhere safe, too. I fidgeted anxiously, making a mental note to demand answers from the next Protectorate member I saw.

Flechette turned to look at Clockblocker, and changed the subject again. "I thought I heard shouting earlier," she said. "Do you know what that was about?"

Clockblocker ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Apparently Glory Girl got in a fight with her sister."

"What?" I blurted, staring at him. The last I'd seen of Glory Girl had been when she'd nearly torn Tattletale's head off _defending_ Panacea.

Vista just shrugged helplessly. "Amy woke up and started yelling at her. I didn't want to get in the middle of it, so..."

"Do you know why?" Weld asked, leaning forward with a thoughtful frown on his face.

Then, as Vista made to reply, Clockblocker put a warning hand on her shoulder. "You can ask Amy yourself," he said coldly.

"Sorry," Weld replied, looking bewildered. "I didn't mean to pry."

Before Clockblocker could reply, a harsh sound came from somewhere behind us. I whirled around, tensing up in my seat—it was uncomfortably similar to the buzzer that had woken me up every morning for the past month. But the others barely acknowledged it. Even Weld and Flechette seemed unconcerned. Still, I felt compelled to ask.

"What's with the noise?"

"It's a warning," Vista explained. "It means we have about a minute to mask up before visitors come in."

I froze. The only visitor I could think of that would be here _now,_ was...

Climbing slowly to my feet, I stepped over the legs of the Wards around me and made my way across the room. The door was only a few yards away, with a light on its handle glowing red. Thirty seconds wasn't enough _time,_ I realized, feeling my hands start to shake.

Before I could even finish the thought, the door clicked open. Miss Militia was standing in front of it, still decked out in her full costume—now covered in mud and silt, of course.

"Ah," she said, pulling up short as she saw me in the doorway. "Cobalt. Would you come with me, please? Your father is here."

I couldn't help but glance behind me, at the circle of couches around a blank television. The Wards were staring back at me, from what seemed like very far away.

"Okay," I tried to say, but nothing really came out, so I nodded instead.

Miss Militia walked quickly, and I had to struggle to keep up. My legs felt like they were pushing through something thicker than air, constantly fighting to pull me forward. I wanted to sit down, to collapse against the wall.

"Is Dinah okay?" I asked, as the silence stretched.

"She's fine," Miss Militia told me. "Her parents are driving out to meet her, and I think they'll be staying in Boston until the city gets back on its feet."

I smiled gratefully at her, letting a rush of relief wash over me. It was a welcome distraction from the growing feeling of worry gnawing at the back of my mind.

The feeling disappeared altogether as Miss Militia began to slow down, stopping in front of a polished wooden door labeled 'Conference Room C.' Pausing with her hand on the knob, she turned to me and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I croaked, biting hard on the inside of my cheek. It took me that long to realize that I didn't want her to open the door. But, the idea of leaving without talking to him was far worse. For an instant, I wondered if I could just ask her to let me wait for a few minutes, to gather my thoughts.

I didn't want to do that, either. Not that it mattered—the door was already swinging open.

"Mister Hebert?" Miss Militia said, as she stepped into the room. The man at the table looked up, startled, and our eyes met.

Dad surged to his feet, nearly knocking over the chair he'd been sitting in, and rushed toward me. Miss Militia stepped aside, letting him through. Before I could even process what I was seeing, I felt strong arms around my shoulders and my face was pressed against his chest.

Every muscle in my body stiffened at once, and then I was standing like a statue, staring at the room behind him. I wanted him to let go, but I couldn't find the words to tell him that.

Miss Militia excused herself, ducking out of the room and closing the door behind her with a loud _click._

"I missed you," dad murmured into the sudden silence. His voice was muffled, probably by my shirt.

"I missed you, too," I replied. The response was automatic, almost detached.

"How... how are you feeling?"

The question sent me reeling. I still didn't know, and the close proximity was suffocating. But if I said _that_ then he'd keep asking, trying to clarify what I was trying to say.

"I'm fine," I lied, and felt myself tensing up as I heard a sharp intake of breath. Something wet hit my back, and I bit down hard on my lower lip.

Was he... crying?

I tried to back away, and for a moment I could feel his arms around me, pulling me off balance. Then he let go, and I was free to turn my face away from him. My hair fell in a rough curtain across my eyes, though it wasn't long enough to hide me completely.

"Miss—" his voice cracked. "Miss Militia told me what happened."

I nodded mutely. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, either, though at least I wouldn't have to try and figure out how to explain it to him. Dad paused, taking a deep and shaky breath.

"Did he hurt you?" The question came out in a rush. "You know I love you, even if—" he seemed to choke on the last words. I thought I might be able to fill in the blanks.

That... wasn't something I wanted to think about.

"No," I said, more firmly this time. "I barely even saw him."

And then, I was being hugged again. A ragged sob escaped my father's throat, though I couldn't see his face. I bit my lip again, nearly drawing blood as tears sprang to my eyes. Blinking furiously, I breathed in through my nose, and in and in and in, before letting it out slowly, quietly.

"Thank god," he breathed.

I broke the hug again, once he had stopped shaking. This time, I tilted my head enough that I could look at him standing there.

Even though he'd always been thin and wiry, it was still a shock to see him look so skeletal. Dark circles hung under sunken eyes, and there was a patch of scruff along his chin and neck. The expression on his face was almost pitifully relieved. He looked... _unraveled._

"I'm sorry," I heard myself say. Instantly, he shot forward and grabbed me in another hug. This time he let go quickly, though he kept his hands on my shoulders.

"Never," he said, so quietly I could barely hear it. "It's never your fault."

My lips pulled into a frown—I _knew_ that. I began gnawing on my lip, blinking back tears and wishing I could sink into the ground and hide.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asked, giving my shoulders a comforting squeeze.

I felt my eyes slam shut, my whole body tensing for a moment as the taste of blood filled my mouth. It took me a moment to realize that I'd broken the skin on my lower lip. Wincing, I probed at the ragged spot with my tongue.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Okay."

And, because something was deeply _wrong_ with this entire conversation, that was when I started to cry.

"Taylor!" dad yelped, pulling me in for another hug. I shrugged it off, putting a hand up to hide my face.

"Don't," I managed, between shallow breaths. The hurt look on his face was enough to make me start sobbing.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted, sounding desperate. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I hiccupped. "Just... relieved."

"Is there anything I can do?" He shifted, catching his hand just as it brushed against my shoulder, and taking a step back. The space was good—but it was obvious how badly he wanted to hug me again.

"I just need time," I said. "I don't know, everything's been so insane, I need a few days to... to adjust, I guess." The need to apologize was still there, roiling in my gut. Even if it hadn't been my fault, pushing him away _now_ certainly was. So I babbled excuses, folding into myself until I had wrapped both my arms tightly around my stomach.

"It's okay."

I blinked, chancing another glance at his face. There were lines etched into his forehead, lines I didn't remember being there before. But there was a smile on his face—weak and watery, yet understanding all the same.

Dad let me stand there for a while, sniffling and wiping at my eyes. It turned out that there was some Kleenex tucked away in one corner of the room, and he handed me a few fistfuls to wipe at my face. Cleaning up helped, oddly enough.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, after I'd thrown out the last tissue. He'd used more than a few himself, though I could still see red rims under his eyes. Mine probably looked the same.

"Yeah."

With another shaky smile, he turned and opened the door. Miss Militia was standing against the opposite wall, reading something out of a manila folder. At the sound of the hinges creaking, she looked up and closed the file with a light shuffling of papers.

"Mr. Hebert," she said, nodding politely at him. "There are some PRT officers willing to escort you home, if you'd like."

"Thank you." He grabbed my hand as he walked past me, heading down the hallway toward what I assumed was the way out.

"And Taylor?" I paused, craning my neck to look over my shoulder.

"We'll contact you sometime soon, for a follow-up with the Director." Miss Militia smiled reassuringly, but the gesture didn't stop me from worrying. I had no idea what she might want to talk about. They wouldn't arrest me, would they?

Then, my dad squeezed my hand, and I forced myself to relax. Whatever happened, at least I wasn't underground anymore. Things could finally go back to normal—I could go home. That made it easier to face.

It also helped that I was fairly sure Winslow had been destroyed during the fighting.


	25. The Point of Compromise

**Uh, words? Thoughts? Something?**

 **Please don't kill my formatting, next chapter button!**

* * *

 _"Fuck!"_

Breathing hard, I tucked my smarting hand under my arm and gritted my teeth. Once the pain had dulled a little, I fixed a baleful glare on the outlet in front of me.

"Motherfucker," I muttered darkly, popping my thumb into my mouth. With my other hand, I gingerly grabbed hold of the cord plugged into the wall. This time, I was careful to keep my thumb on the plug, where it couldn't bridge the gap between the prongs.

Honestly, I'd been working for almost four hours now and _this_ was what hurt me?

Once the soldering iron had been unplugged, I draped it gently over my desk, careful to place the hot end into a ceramic mug I'd tucked into the corner. It might have been a fire hazard, but I'd done it enough times before that I wasn't too worried.

With one final glare at the outlet, I turned my attention back to the floor, where I'd spread out all the materials I could scrounge from downstairs. There hadn't been much—unsurprisingly, Leviathan had left a lot of flooded basements in his wake. I wouldn't have had much of anything to work with, if dad hadn't offered me the remains of our microwave. I didn't ask how it got so dented.

It was only when I actually looked around my room that I realized how messy it had gotten in the past few days. My new notebook was splayed out over my bed, surrounded by a halo of loose scrap paper and even a napkin I'd scribbled on during dinner. The floor was scattered with loose wires. A pile of school textbooks lay in a dejected heap near the door, still in the same place they'd landed when I shoved them off my desk to clear a space.

I smiled. When I'd finally gotten home last week, the room had been just as I'd left it—same rumpled covers, same hamper full of dirty laundry, same everything. It didn't feel right, even though it was _me_ who'd put everything there in the first place. Maybe it was something about how timelocked it seemed. It was as if the last month hadn't even happened, and one morning I might wake up to find that I was running late for school again. The clutter—the _tinker_ clutter—made it feel more like home.

That, and it was a huge relief to be able to just... _work._ It had been over a month since I'd been left alone with just some tools and a notebook, and complete freedom over what I wanted to make. Even before Coil, I'd been tinkering in the basement, constantly listening for the creak of my dad's footsteps. The lack of secrecy was refreshing.

Glancing at the soldering iron, I frowned slightly. That was the one thing, the _one_ thing that was bothering me the most. It was so fucking _dull._ It was the same with pencils, I supposed—eventually the point wore off, and I was stuck with a rounded nub that was nearly impossible to maneuver.

On a sudden impulse, I picked the iron back up. It was still hot—I could feel the warmth radiating from it, even if I only hovered my hand a few inches away. There should be a point, though. The one Coil had given me was needle sharp, threading in between the smallest wires, through steel and flesh and bone—

The soldering iron slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor with a dull thump, barely missing my feet. I blinked, looking down at where it had fallen. There were a few stray drops of solder on the floor, glinting silver.

I bent to pick it up, holding it gingerly by the plug and laying it back onto the desk. My hands were shaking.

Grabbing up a pencil, I snatched up my notebook and started glancing over the notes I'd made there. A few rough sketches were already taking form. I was having trouble figuring out how exactly to start my next project, though. Ever since the mess at Arcadia, I'd been wanting to try and integrate my gear into my own body. The problem with that, beyond my initial squeamishness and the fit dad would throw if he ever found out, was purely technical. I just couldn't reach most of my body with my dominant hand, let alone try and perform surgery on myself.

So, I'd decided to build something that would do if for me, which was harder than I anticipated. I'd come up with a complex system of clamps to hold the machine in place, and maybe if I coated them with some kind of glue, then—

"Taylor!"

I jumped, flinging the pencil away from me and shoving myself out of my seat with enough force that it toppled over. Instead of falling with it, I managed to find my feet, watching in dismay as the chair crashed to the ground.

"What was that?" my dad called out. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, dad," I yelled back. "I just knocked something over."

He didn't respond, but soon I could hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. In a sudden panic, I slammed my notebook shut and tossed in onto the bed. Grabbing as many of the loose papers as I could, I shifted them under the notebook and threw my pillow over the whole thing. I was just about to cover the beginnings of my prototype before I forced myself to stop.

Even if he saw the notes, my dad would have no idea what they meant. I took a deep breath, only to have it catch in my throat as he knocked on the door.

"Come in," I said, as I bent down to pick up the chair.

The door eased open tentatively, and dad poked his head through. "It's time to go," he told me, after a worried glance around the room.

I forced a smile, and went to my closet to grab a jacket. It was easy to excuse stuffing my head into the dark space, pressing my face into the fabrics and taking a deep breath. After a second of rummaging, I grabbed the nearest sweatshirt and slipped it over my head. The warm fabric felt nice.

Jamming both hands into my pockets, I turned back around to face dad. He step forward, putting a hand on my shoulder. I winced, doing my best to step away from him without being too obvious.

"We don't have to go, if you don't want to," he told me. "I can just call the PRT and have them reschedule."

"I'm okay," I said, even though going out was the last thing I really wanted to do. He seemed to accept that, at least.

By the time we made it through the front door, I was already starting to wish I'd stayed. It wasn't that I was afraid to leave, exactly, but the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to meet with the Protectorate. I still hadn't talked to dad in detail about... anything, really. He knew the basics, about Coil and Harrison and how I'd gone out as Cobalt, but I hadn't even touched upon how I'd gotten out of the base.

Still, I'd have to meet with them at some point, and waiting and wondering was going to drive me insane sooner or later. I couldn't hide in my room with my tinkering forever.

Dad's car was still in the driveway, though it had been crushed badly enough that all the windows had shattered. I found myself wincing sympathetically every time we passed it—the dent looked suspiciously human-shaped, and I knew firsthand how much that must have hurt.

Lucky for us, the PRT headquarters wasn't too far. Well, relatively speaking—it would probably take over an hour to walk there, but with the roads as fucked up as they were, driving would've been even longer.

"Taylor?" Dad asked, as we turned out of the driveway.

"Yeah?"

"I know this must be hard for you, and I don't want to push, but—" he stopped, took a breath.

"I'm just... worried."

I winced. He'd been acting restrained all week, and I could tell he wanted to know. I could only guess what he _thought_ had happened, but the constant hovering and worried looks told me it wasn't good. I needed to say _something,_ but I had no idea how to start.

What could I say? _"Guess what, dad? I killed a man last week!"_

Some of what I was thinking must have shown on my face, because he backpedaled almost immediately.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "You should take your time."

"It's okay." I hesitated, shoving my hands deeper into my jacket pockets. "I'm just... still trying to figure it out."

The rest of the walk passed in awkward silence. Sometimes he would start up a smaller, safer conversation. That was nice—if it weren't for the devastated city around us, the whole scene would've felt almost normal.

We were only about halfway there when dad stopped in his tracks. I nearly bumped into him, but he reached out and grabbed my shoulder. Startled, I stiffened where I stood.

"Sorry," he murmured, obviously distracted. I followed his gaze to a brick wall, and a familiar symbol spray-painted over it—a capital M with a line through it.

"The Merchants?" I said, staring at the mark. _"Here?"_

Dad frowned. "I knew the gangs were acting up, but..." he trailed off.

I clenched a fist, suddenly hyperaware of how vulnerable I was. My armor had been pretty thoroughly trashed, and I'd left it with the PRT to save us the hassle of hauling it inside. We were planning on picking it up today, if only to reuse some of the more expensive components I'd used. That meant I had only the strength in my own two arms—which amounted to basically nothing.

"We should go," I told dad, eying the buildings around us nervously. He gave me an odd, measuring look.

"It's alright," he said, quietly. "We'll call Kurt next time, see if he can give us a ride." I grit my teeth, caught by a sudden and irrational pang of annoyance.

"Okay," I replied, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

After that, we made it to the PRT without incident. The woman at the desk waved us through as soon as dad gave her his name, and told us to head upstairs to conference room D. I grimaced, remembering the room I'd met dad in.

One of the PRT agents showed the way, leading us up a flight of stairs and into a long hallway. The conference room we'd been told to go to was on the left, and dad pushed open the door without hesitation.

Inside, there was a mild-looking man with ruffled brown hair and a harassed expression on his face. He stood up when we entered, and I noticed he was an inch or two taller than my dad—a rare thing.

"Ah, come in," he said, slipping a pile of papers into a nearby envelope. Three more manila folders were spread out across the table in front of him, each of them nearly an inch thick.

"Sorry about the mess," he continued, and stuck out a hand. "It's been a busy week. I'm Deputy Director Renick."

"Daniel Hebert," dad replied, returning the handshake with a strained smile.

Renick sighed, rubbing a hand across the bridge of his nose. "I hope you've had the chance to catch up on some rest," he offered, as he pawed through the loose paper on his desk.

"A little," I said, once it became clear that he wanted a response. Renick hummed distractedly.

"Ah," he mumbled, after a while. "This is it. My apologies, it's been a bit hectic lately."

"What is it?" I asked. I couldn't read it upside-down, but it looked like something that had been scribbled down in a hurry.

"Just some notes," the man replied. "I have a few things I needed to talk to you about, and... well, I'm not very good at remembering those off-hand." He flashed a self-deprecating grin.

"Is Taylor in any trouble?" dad asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shifted uncomfortably, keeping my eyes on the sheaf of papers.

"It's likely there'll be an investigation, but that's mostly a formality." Renick's smile slipped for a moment as he continued, "Armsmaster noticed similarities between the armor found in your basement, and the set Cobalt had been wearing. Beyond that, Dinah has testified that you helped her escape, and—"

"Dinah?" dad interrupted.

The PRT agent frowned. "Another girl apparently being held in the same location." He paused, glancing between dad and I. "How much have you discussed, about... well, your situation?" I winced.

"Only the basics," admitted dad. "I didn't want to push, and..."

"I don't like talking about it," I said, cutting him off. It hurt hearing him sound so guilty, considering how much of a relief it had been when he _hadn't_ started prying.

Renick nodded slowly, as if absorbing the new information. He coughed, looking uncomfortable. "I know this must be hard for you," he said, "But... we _will_ need to keep him informed, and you'll have to give the police some kind of statement eventually."

"I know." I glanced between dad and the PRT agent, eventually settling my gaze on the desk. It was a warm, wooden brown, filled with lazy swirls of light and dark.

"I can talk," I decided, after a moment. When I locked eyes with dad, he looked torn.

"You don't have to," he told me reluctantly.

"I _do,_ though. If not now, then later." Besides, it should be easier to talk to dad than the police, or PRT, or whoever was going to take my statement.

Renick cleared his throat awkwardly. "I don't mean to rush you," he said, "but we do have a lot to discuss..."

"Right," dad agreed, shaking his head as if to clear it. Then he froze, turning back to Renick. "You mentioned... there was someone else there, too?"

"Dinah," I muttered.

He looked almost sick. "So... this isn't the first time he's done this. What—Why wasn't he _caught?"_

"We were trying," Renick asserted. "I don't know if you're aware, but the man holding her—"

"Coil," he gritted out. "Yes, I know."

"The Protectorate has been trying to apprehend him for years. Until now, we had no idea he had an underground base of operations, let alone it's location."

Dad scowled. "This other girl... is she home, now?"

"She's with her parents, yes. They're staying in Boston for a while." Dad seemed to relax a little, at that.

Renick coughed again. "I apologize, but I have a small mountain of paperwork waiting for me, and I wanted to ask about your plans for the future."

"What?" I asked, thrown.

"Well, if you planned on continuing your career as a parahuman, I'm sure we could work out a contract with the Wards that—"

"No!" Dad stood up, slamming his hands against the table. I jumped out of my own seat, taking an instinctive step back. The rage on his face seemed to melt, and he collapsed bonelessly back into his seat.

"No," he said again, more quietly this time—but just as firmly. "I just found out that my daughter fought not one, but _two_ gang leaders, and _Echidna._ And you want me to sign her up to risk her life _again?"_

"Dad—" I tried to interject. He held up a hand, twisting in his seat to look at me.

"Please... I don't want you getting hurt. Not again."

"It wasn't exactly my _choice,"_ I shot back, clenching a fist. Dad stopped, took a deep breath.

"I know," he said, after a moment. "None of this is your fault, but... I can't do this again."

I looked away, eyes stinging as a multitude of little things I'd tried so hard to ignore came rushing back. It wasn't just the dented microwave. There was the new hole in the wall, the trash can full of plastic six-pack rings, the way my room had been left untouched—like a tomb.

It _wasn't_ my fault. I _knew_ that.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"You don't need to be," he assured me, nearly stumbling over his own words to try and get them out faster. A hand brushed against my shoulder, before falling limply to his side.

"No, it's not that, I just—I don't think I can stop." I could feel him looking at me, but I kept staring at my shoes.

"Stop what?" he asked, gently.

"Tinkering."

"Taylor... you don't have to get into _fights_ to use your powers."

"It's not just about building things, dad. It's about using them to _do_ something." I stopped, frustrated. Nothing was coming out right, and I suspected that probably had a lot to do with how muddled my thoughts were even in my own head. Dad still had that obstinate look on his face, the one I always saw when he was on the phone with someone from the city government.

"You can do something else! Something _safe!"_ he insisted, gripping the arms of his chair hard enough to make them creak in protest. It was almost made me flinch away—but his tone was desperate, not angry.

"I _can't,"_ I shot back.

"Yes, you can." The pleading edge had left his voice, replaced by something softer.

"Dad—"

"You're home now, Taylor," he said, quietly. "You don't have to fight anymore, you can start trying to pick up the pieces, get things back to normal."

"I don't _want_ to go back to normal!" I shouted, lurching to my feet. The chair legs rasped against the tile floor, and the room went dead silent.

"Normal... normal _sucked._ My power was supposed to be an escape from that, a way to actually _do_ something instead of sitting through another day in that hellhole of a school! I want—" I stopped, taking a harsh, shallow breath. "I wanted to be a hero."

Dad slumped in his seat, looking suddenly exhausted. "Okay," he said. I could see tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled again.

"Don't," dad choked. "Don't do that." He stood, folding me into another hug. I forced myself to stay still, this time, until we were interrupted by a small, polite cough.

Slowly, I turned my head to the other side of the room. Deputy Director Renick sat behind his desk, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Would you like a minute?" he asked, glancing between me and dad.

"Oh," I said, face burning at the sudden reminder that he was still in the room—and had been through that entire argument. "No, it's fine."

I bit my lip, feeling suddenly torn. I hadn't wanted to join the Wards when Armsmaster had asked, and in the intervening month I'd gotten into a fight with half of them. A very large part of me wanted to tell Renick to shove it.

But dad would hate it. I could keep pushing, I knew. Dad might relent again, let me go out as independent—but it would be a constant strain on him, always worrying that I'd gotten hurt again. As much as I disliked the idea of trying to get along with them, they _were_ much safer than other hero groups. I was living proof of that, already.

He couldn't see me get hurt again, and I couldn't stop using my gear—the Wards program was the closest thing to a solution I could imagine.

"I'll join," I said. Not that I _wanted_ to join _—_ just that I would.

Dad rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and the look on his face told me I'd made the right choice. "I'll give permission," he sighed.

"That's good. We... well, we're low on manpower at the moment." Renick's face twisted.

"Is there anything I need to sign?" dad asked.

The Deputy Director heaved a sigh. "Quite a lot, yes." He pulled open one of his desk drawers and shuffled around for a moment, before producing another stack of papers. There was a ghost of a smile on his face as my dad paled.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said. "There's only a few things you actually need to sign, the rest is information for your own benefit." Shifting the first bit of paper around so that it was facing us, he began talking.

Most of it was about safety procedures and policy, about what Wards were and were not responsible for. Some of it was specific to tinkers, detailing the budget I would have and the hoops I'd have to jump through to get new projects approved. The rest tended to fly right over my head.

With every word, I felt myself getting more and more twitchy. I hadn't said a word in nearly ten minutes, but my dad was leaning forward, seemingly absorbing every rule and regulation. I squirmed in my seat, suddenly wishing I'd just stayed home.

"This is by no means binding," the Deputy Director assured us, just as I was trying to think of a way to leave politely. "Either of you could terminate the contract at any time, though I do hope you continue on to the Protectorate." He smiled warmly at me. "We could use more heroes in this city."

I squirmed uncomfortably. The statement seemed so hollow, though I couldn't begin to guess _why._ Frustrated, I didn't bother trying to respond. I nodded, hoping that would be enough to show him that I'd heard.

"Boston and New York are lending us Weld and Flechette, but it's still difficult." I looked up, startled.

"I didn't know that," I told him.

Renick grimaced at his desk, running a thumb along the grain of the wood. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you want to help out like this," he said, glancing up to meet my eyes. I squirmed in my seat.

There was a tense pause, before Renick coughed again.

"Moving on to more... pleasant topics," he said, with a wide, fake grin, "I believe we have something of yours."

"What?"

Renick smiled. "Your armor—both sets, actually. An officer brought the older one to us for analysis, and it's been sitting around ever since."

I blinked. That suit had been half-melted by Lung, barely functioning well enough for me to limp home with it afterwards. I'd been thinking about repairs when... when Coil found me. As for the other... I'd never actually checked what had gone wrong with the right arm.

"Could I bring them home?" I asked, feeling my fingers twitching at the idea. The project I was working on was far more appealing to me than my old gear, but it would take a long time to finish. If I fixed the armor, I could be going on patrols in the meantime. It would have to be the Cobalt set, though—the old one wasn't nearly as responsive even when it had been new.

"Of course," Renick replied, chuckling. "They _are_ yours, after all."

"If I fixed the newer one," I said, "Would I need to get it approved?" The last half hour had, if nothing else, taught me that there was rigorous testing involved for every new bit of technology I wanted to bring out in the field. I tried not to think too hard about it—as tedious as it would be, at least I'd be still be able to build what I wanted eventually.

"Technically, yes," Renick said. "But I believe we should be able to bend the rules a little, since you've already used that suit before, and Armsmaster has certainly poked and prodded it enough." His face darkened a bit at that.

"What does that mean by bending the rules, exactly?"

"You'll need to do some paperwork, but we'll be able to cut quite a few corners. I suspect it'll go through before you finish repairing it. We need all hands on deck, including yours."

"It's official, then?" I asked.

"Not until all this is finished," he told me, waving a hand over the mess on his desk. "But there shouldn't be any problem."

Sweeping the loose paper into another folder, he handed it to dad. "If you could fill this in and get it back to us, we should be all set."

I shifted in my seat. "Can we go?"

Renick laughed. "Yes, the boring part is over." He ushered us out the door, calling out to a nearby officer and telling them to escort us to Armsmaster's lab.

"The armor should still be there," he explained. "You could bring it home, if you like, but I'd recommend leaving it here. You'd be welcome to use the lab to start repairing it."

I frowned. "When would I start? With the Wards, I mean."

Renick shrugged. "As soon as all the paperwork is filed, I'd hope. Probably by the end of the week."

My heart sank. "Okay," I managed. Dad gave me an encouraging smile, but I could tell he wasn't happy, either. Then again, that was the point of compromise, wasn't it?

As we walked out together, I let my hair fall into a curtain over my eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. I was so busy putting one foot in front of another, that the only indication I had that there was someone else in the hallway was when I bumped into them.

Startled, I looked up and blurted out an apology, only to stop in my tracks. Panacea was standing in front of me, looking almost as uncomfortable as I probably did.

"Watch where you're going," she muttered, and moved to go around me.

Part of me wanted to snap at her... but I _had_ walked into her. "Sorry," I repeated, then extended a hand.

"I'm... uh, Cobalt," I told her. It was a risk, maybe—she had plenty of reason not to like me. But my secret identity was basically common knowledge among the Protectorate, and I did want to try to offer whatever olive branch I could.

Panacea did a double take. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, eying my hand like it was about to bite her.

"I just joined the Wards." I frowned, suddenly curious. "What about you? Did someone get hurt?"

"No. I'm going to be staying here for a while." The line sounded stiff, like something she'd been saying a lot recently. I'd been doing the same thing, regurgitating the same explanation anytime someone asked an awkward question, so that I didn't have to think about it.

"Oh," I managed, wracking my brain for something better to say. I tried not to look too obviously surprised—Vista had mentioned she'd gotten into some kind of fight with her sister, but I hadn't thought it was so bad she'd have to leave her house.

"Do you mind?" Panacea asked pointedly, jerking her chin toward the hallway behind me.

"Right, sorry." I stepped aside, wincing as she brushed past me.

"Do you know her?" Dad asked, turning his head to watch her walking away.

 _My minder held her gunpoint, and the next day I nearly got her eaten._

"Sort of?"

The expression on his face shifted to something unreadable. He took a long, steadying breath.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" He moved toward me, then stopped, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. "Nothing would make me love you any less."

I chewed my lip and nodded.

"Let's go home, kiddo," he said, turning to walk back the way we'd come. For a moment, I hovered in place, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Dad?" I called out. He twisted to look over his shoulder.

"I love you."


	26. Running Off Like That

**'Sup?**

 **So, um... Ugh, I dunno. I just have to put something here or else the 'Next Chapter' button fucks up my formatting.**

* * *

The morning of my first patrol, I woke to an unfamiliar ceiling.

Jolting upright with my heart in my throat, I sat for a moment half covered by a blanket and breathing hard. Realization struck as soon as I looked around at the tiny, impersonal room, with walls that didn't reach even halfway to the ceiling.

 _The Wards._

I took in a gulp of air, held it, then sighed. Snaking a hand out of the sheets, I fumbled for a moment with the new smart phone the PRT had given me and finally managed to turn off the alarm that had woken me. Groaning, I stripped back the blanket and pushed myself out of bed. My bare feet hit cold linoleum, banishing the last dregs of grogginess almost instantly. Pausing for a moment to dress and slip on a jacket, I shuffled my way out of the cubicle and into the common room.

It was striking how empty it was. Realistically, that was probably because of how early it was, but I couldn't help but consider a darker reason. Even with Weld and Flechette bolstering their numbers, the Wards had still lost almost all their senior members. Clockblocker, Vista, and Kid Win were all that was left of the old team, and the Protectorate had taken just as hard a hit—even Armsmaster had died. Some of that had been the fight with Leviathan... but I couldn't help but think that Noelle had played a big part in it.

I grimaced, and strode across the room, hoping to drown my thoughts in breakfast. Ducking past a few more cubicles, I made my way to the little kitchenette, tucked away in the back and out of sight. Clockblocker—or Dennis, since he was out of costume—was sitting by a plastic table and tucking into some oatmeal.

Glancing drowsily up at me, he jerked his head at another bowl on the other side of the table and grunted. Apparently he wasn't quite awake enough for language, yet.

I gave the offered meal a baleful look. It was a nice gesture, from the least approachable of the Wards I'd met so far. And yet...

"Do you have... anything else?" I asked, grimacing.

Dennis shot an annoyed look at me, before sliding my bowl towards him and spooning its contents into his own.

"Some bread in the cupboard if you want toast," he said, before turning his attention back to his food.

I followed his advice mechanically, sticking two slices of bread into a nearby toaster. When they were done, I added two more for good measure, and started slathering the finished pair in butter. When I sat down, Dennis raised an eyebrow.

"Armor uses calories," I explained. He shrugged, and swallowed another spoonful of oatmeal.

It was a little while before either of us spoke after that—mostly because it was only a little after six in the morning. It was my first patrol, and I'd offered to take the early shift—partly to try and reconcile with the Wards, but mostly because my sleep cycle had been shot to hell last month and two weeks of constant tinkering hadn't helped any. I'd actually gone to sleep at about ten for the first time in weeks, after pulling an all-nighter to fix my armor in time.

Finding out that it was Clockblocker I'd be sharing the patrol with had been a bit daunting, though. He'd shared his civilian name with me a few days ago, but he was still standoffish at the best of times, and I wasn't entirely sure why. If it were just me, I would sort of understand, but he seemed to have a problem with Weld, too. I considered just asking him, but couldn't muster up the courage to break the silence.

Breakfast continued to be an uncomfortable affair, with Dennis mostly ignoring me in favor of his oatmeal. I briefly considered trying to fix myself something more substantial than toast, but it was early enough that I just didn't have the energy. I'd regret it later, but we'd be back before lunchtime and I'd gone hungry longer during the Noelle fight.

I was about halfway through my last piece of toast when Dennis pushed back his chair and stood up. "We should get ready," he said, before ducking back into the kitchen.

Bringing my toast along with me, I made my way to Armsmaster's lab. My armor lay just where I'd left it last night, spread-eagled on one of the tables. It had been repainted a pleasant shade of sunset orange, quite literally the farthest I could get from the original blue, but that couldn't erase all the evidence of wear and tear.

For a moment, I stood stock still, running my gaze along all its scratches, scuffs, and dents. Most noticeable were three or four large patches of warped steel, where the armor had bonded to Weld—still visible even through the new paint. Some of the other damage I could remember accumulating during the fight with Noelle, like the long scrape across the right shoulder guard from when I'd fallen off the roof. And then there was the series of gouges along the side of my breastplate, from when Harrison had tried to wrestle me off of him, and a scattering of nearly imperceptible dints where Coil's guards had shot me.

Shaking my head to clear it, I tugged the armor off the table and stepped into it. Closing it over my legs took longer than it should have. Every few seconds I would pause, noticing another old wound on the surface and running shaky fingers along the cool metal. By the time I was closing the gauntlets over my gloves, my hands were shaking badly enough that it was hard to find the clasps.

 _One week,_ I thought. _Then I can submit the cybernetics. I'll only be using it for one more week._

Finally, I managed to shut both gauntlets over my hands. Then, slowly, I reached up to my neck and connected the control center. For a moment, I was hissing in pain, cursing under my breath.

And then, old limbs came alive again. The pain faded into a mild tingling, then disappeared entirely as I reached out a hand and made a fist. My gloves creaked—a solid, familiar sound.

I let out a breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding. I'd been expecting it to feel weird, even unpleasant, but all I could sense was a familiar strength in my arms. It was hard to be afraid of my own body, I guessed.

As soon as the last of the buzzing in my neck faded away, I walked out into the hallway. Dennis— _Clockblocker—_ was waiting for me. His visor was still open, exposing a shock of red hair and a strained smile. Then, he reached out and tossed me an earpiece linked to the console back at base.

"Can you hear me?" Weld asked, his voice sounding remarkably clear through the tiny speaker. He'd explained the basics of how this would work a few days ago, though I hadn't been paying that much attention at the time. As soon as I confirmed that the device was working, I gave Clockblocker a thumbs up and slotted my new helmet over my head.

Once I'd double checked that everything in my armor was connected properly, the two of us walked out into the city. It was... weird. The last two weeks had been the longest I'd gone without wearing my armor in a while, and now it felt almost as novel as it had the first time I'd put it on. Every movement was a bit stiff, a little stilted—but so _effortless._

Eager to test my new strength, I started jogging faster, enjoying how light I felt. Still, Weld had warned me to be careful, reminding me that the Wards had only started doing patrols this early because they were necessary. The PRT expected us to run into trouble.

On a sudden whim, I sped up a bit, breaking into a full run and vaulting over a rusted-out Jeep that had been abandoned on the road. The wind felt good, even through my visor. Grinning, I pushed myself to go _faster,_ even using my flesh and blood limbs to propel me forward. My legs began to burn, and I could feel adrenaline prickling at my palms, egging me on. Feet pounding rhythmically on the sidewalk, I savored the sensation of my heart racing, my chest aching—

"Hey!"

I skidded to a sudden halt, nearly tripping over my own feet. Craning my neck to look over my shoulder, I saw that Clockblocker was almost a full block behind me. He was running, too, though I could tell he was out of breath.

"Sorry," I said, once he'd caught up.

It was difficult to express irritation through a full-face mask, but Clockblocker managed it anyway.

"Stay close," he warned me, as we set off again at a walk. "It's your first patrol, you shouldn't be running off like that."

I did my best to obey, though it was harder than I'd thought. Clockblocker wasn't a mover, didn't have any kind of physical augmentation. So, compared to my armor... he was slow. _Excruciatingly_ slow.

"Did you and Kid Win see anything earlier?" I asked Weld, hoping for some distraction from our maddening pace.

"We had a run-in with some looters, but they scattered before we could call it in."

"Where was that?"

"We should focus on the patrol," Clockblocker said suddenly, cutting off Weld's reply.

Frustrated, I turned my attention to the streets around us. It was silent as a tomb, with next to no one on the street. Scanning the doorways of half-destroyed apartment complexes, I kept thinking I'd seen people in the shadows, only to find that it was just a bit of debris caught in the wind.

We walked for nearly half an hour that way, with me jumping at every shadow and constantly reminding myself to slow down. Then, just when I was about ready to scream, there was a shout from a few blocks ahead.

"Go and see what that was," Weld told me. "But be careful."

I grinned, then took off sprinting down the streets. Water fanned out around me as I splashed through a shallow puddle, and I relished the feeling of my heart pounding against my ribcage. The distance seemed to melt away, until I was forced to slow down and move more quietly.

The source of the noise turned out to be a ring of armed thugs, all standing in front of a relatively intact apartment complex. Most held bats and clubs and other scrounged weapons, but I could see that a few were carrying guns.

"We don't have anything," someone was shouting from inside the apartment. "You already took it all!"

"Open the door!" snarled a woman who looked like she might be the ringleader.

My face broke out into a feral grin. I didn't bother calling out, choosing instead to sprint directly towards the group. The nearest goon looked up just as I was about a dozen yards away from him. He cried out, raising what looked like a police baton and swinging it wildly over his head.

A shot rang out, and I winced as I felt the impact glance off my right shoulder.

"Cobalt!" Weld shouted into my earpiece. "What's going on?"

"Busy," I blurted out, eyes flitting between the thugs as they raised their various weapons.

I was soon within arms reach of the thug. He reached out to try and hid me, but I grabbed the baton out of the air and stopped it cold. It connected with his chest as he blundered into it, and with a final shove he tipped over onto the asphalt, cursing the whole way.

"Who the fuck're you?" the leader snarled. Her pistol whipped up to face me, and she fired twice in quick succession. Both shots missed by a wide margin.

My hand shot up to try and grab at her gun, but one of the others had come up behind me. A metal bat slammed into the back of my head, making my helmet ring. I stumbled back, dazed, and threw a sloppy punch at him. He grabbed it out of the air, but couldn't stop its momentum before it connected with his shoulder and threw him sideways.

Then, another thug jumped on my back, jamming a pipe under my chin and holding on tightly. Gun woman had an almost pointblank shot this time, one that sank right into the padding on my stomach. I doubled over with a grunt, wincing as my lower body began to tingle.

Ignoring the muted pain response, I tried swatting at the guy on my back. He swore at me when I managed to cuff him in the head, but only held on tighter. My armor was too strong for him to force my head back, but his weight made me shaky, unbalanced.

 _Bang._

That didn't mean the gun woman was the lesser threat. Lurching unsteadily, I dove toward her in a graceless tackle. She leapt backwards, just as one of the other thugs landed a shot on my leg. The idiot kept firing, and suddenly the one on my back let out a sharp scream and dropped off.

With the weight on my back suddenly gone, and my body already off-balance from the dodged tackle, I went down hard on my hands and knees. One of the attackers took the opportunity to smash a metal bat down across my back. I grunted into the comms, but managed to push myself unsteadily to my feet.

"Cobalt!" Weld was shouting. "Clockblocker is on his way, just hang on."

"I'm _fine,"_ I snapped. That might not have been entirely true—I'd have a hell of a bruise on my stomach tomorrow, if past experience was anything to go by—but with my armor on these guys couldn't hope to seriously hurt me.

As soon as I was upright and balanced again, I took the opportunity to attack the leader. She managed to sidestep my first wild swing, but before she could get off another shot I brought both arms down on her outstretched arm. She screamed and stumbled away from me, dropping the gun with a clatter.

One of the other thugs made a grab for it, but I brought my foot down on the barrel as hard as I could. There was an ear-piercing squeal of metal on metal, but when I stepped back the barrel was visibly deformed.

By then, I was surrounded. A quick glance over my shoulder showed that there were at least eight or nine of them, not counting the leader who was still cradling her arm or the guy who'd been shot by his own ally. Another bullet dinged off one of my knees, ricocheting into the ground and leaving a mark on the asphalt.

"You're only going to hurt each other doing that," I pointed out, raising my voice so that I could be heard through my visor.

Something heavy bounced off my back, and the rest seemed to recover their courage. A man in front of me dashed forward, swinging manically with what looked like a cleaver. His eyes were wide, almost bulging, and every slash went wild. Each attack tore a long gouge in the paint on my gauntlets as I raised an arm defensively in front of me, backing up instinctively as I felt the weapon scrape across my armguard again and again.

Another thug grabbed my other arm and shouted, "Dogpile her!"

I tried to swing at him, but found that one of them was hanging off my shoulder. Cleaver guy had started laughing, a high, brittle kind of laugh that made me think he was on something. I snapped a kick at him, landing a solid hit on his upper chest and sending him crashing to the ground.

Then, the world went red—literally. I couldn't see anything through my visor except vague shapes and outlines.

Startled, I shouted something incoherent and tried to slam my helmet into the culprit. It collided with something, making a meaty sound that seemed promising. Someone howled, though I couldn't really tell if it was the same one that had blinded me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" someone, probably Clockblocker, shouted over the comms. The momentary distraction let another goon wrap a meaty arm around my neck, and try ineffectually to throttle me through my armor.

I tried to kick out in front of me again, and was rewarded by another cry of pain—but someone had the bright idea to grab my leg. Several people, if they were able to keep hold of it. Then my other foot was swept out from under me, and I hit the street headfirst. There was a weight on my chest, probably another thug, and I lashed out with both arms. My left barely moved, but my right broke free of the press and collided with the person on top of me, though I couldn't tell what I'd hit.

A few of the men behind me cried out, whether in fear or anger I wasn't sure, and I felt their grip on me loosen slightly. Seizing the opportunity, I managed to rip off the thing covering my visor—a dirty sweatshirt, as it turned out. For a moment, the light blinded me, and all I could see was a strange shape hovering in front of my face. I found myself going cross-eyed, finally managing to resolve the chaotic blur in front of me into the image of a gun barrel about an inch and a half away from my nose.

"Fuck!" I blurted, and headbutted the weapon. My visor bounced back, violently, and even cracked a bit near the middle. I bucked, trying to throw the gunman off of me, but found myself pinned to the floor. Suddenly panicked, I reached up and slammed a hand against the gunner's chest, only to have it glance off.

It was only when I turned to look behind him that I saw Clockblocker, backing away and raising his hands defensively and backing away from of a group of thugs that had broken off to deal with the new threat. Neither of them had guns—it seemed that the last of those had been timelocked.

"What the hell was that?" I demanded, as a baseball bat smashed onto my visor. They may have been random street goons, but they were smart enough to know a weakened target when they saw one. The crack in my helmet widened, and I forced a hand up to try and protect it from any more damage.

"Uh, control?" Clockblocker said, sounding distinctly nervous. "Cobalt is pinned, and I've got four guys on me. All armed, none with guns."

"How long does this last?" I demanded, slapping at one of the thug's shins. He howled something unrepeatable, but stumbled away from me and gave me a moment to breathe.

"Anywhere from thirty seconds to about ten minutes," Weld supplied.

 _"Ten minutes!?"_

I tried to inch myself out from under the gunman, but he'd been kneeling on my chest, with an arm grasping the front of my armor. There was no way to move him, and for the second time in as many fights I bemoaned my lack of ranged options. Thrashing wildly wasn't going to help—I just had to hope he unfroze near the lower end of the time limit.

"Can you deal with them?" I asked.

One of the thugs swung a knife at Clockblocker. The Ward dodged, then darted forward and tagged him. Another managed to land a hit across his back with a pipe, and he made a harsh grunting noise over the comms.

"Not this many," he managed.

"Why the hell did you freeze me if you can't deal with them?"

"I was keeping them from _shooting_ you in the _face,"_ Clockblocker snarled.

A tire iron slammed into my forearm with a clang. I twisted around and grabbed it, yanking it out of the man's hand. The thugs around me all backed up out of arms reach. Most of them seemed to be trying to take the weapon out of my hand, but a few broke off and advanced on Clockblocker.

"Shit," I muttered, and threw the makeshift club at one of the retreating thugs. Not as hard as I could—I didn't want to kill him—but enough that he went down with a sharp scream and stayed that way. Clockblocker froze another one, and I was left unarmed once more.

"Hey, over here!" I shouted through my visor.

Another makeshift weapon bounced off my back, though the only way I could actually tell was from the noise it made. I tried to grab that one, too, but it seemed like the thugs had wised up a bit. They were staying a few feet back, poking at me from the edges of their range, and making sure to keep any potential projectiles an arm's length away from me.

"I don't think I can handle this many," Clockblocker said, backing away still further and out of my field of vision. I could just see his shoes now, if I craned my head back as far as it would go.

"Go! Run!" I shouted at him. "They'll chase you, and I can take the rest of them."

 _Or all of them,_ I didn't say. As irritating as the attempted assist had been, now probably wasn't the time to argue with him about it.

Clockblocker took my advice, sprinting down the street and out of range of the thugs. For a moment, I heard nothing—then, there was another gunshot. I jerked in place, fighting a sudden surge of panic. I'd been so sure all the gunmen were down or frozen, but I must have forgotten one of them.

"Shit, are you okay?" I blurted, trying to twist my head around so that I could see better.

"Fine," came the terse reply. "I'm taking some turns, trying not to get too far away."

"We're past the minimum time on Clock's power," Weld informed us. "Hang in there, reinforcements are on the way."

One of the goons got a little too close to me, and I managed to knock his foot out from under him. He went down hard, unfortunately landing out of my reach.

Then, _finally,_ the gun guy unfroze. For an instant, a slightly baffled expression flashed across his face, as he found his weapon pressed against the side of my helmet instead of the visor. Then I brought my head up and smashed it into his nose. He went down hard, landing prone on the concrete.

Realizing that their advantage had been lost, the other thugs backed off a bit. I rolled to my feet easily, savoring the feeling of strength in my legs as I lashed out with one foot.

It didn't take long to knock most of them down. The last one bolted, but I didn't have time to chase him.

"I'm free," I said into the comms. "Which way did you go?"

"North," Clockblocker grunted. "I got most of the regular thugs, but the gunman is still up.

"If Cobalt is free, the thugs might start unfreezing as well," Weld pointed out.

I glanced around, noticing a few timelocked goons scattered across the street. Would they come after us? Then again, did it really matter anymore?

Opting to ignore them, I sped up and began sprinting north. "Okay Clockblocker, where are you?"

A grunt from the other end of the line. "Don't know. Keep going, we're making a lot of noise."

As if in answer, I heard a loud crash through the comms. Straining my ears, I thought I could detect the same sound farther up ahead.

"Fuck!" Clockblocker muttered. I heard a gunshot—both from Clockblocker's side and my own.

Dodging down a side street, I followed my ears as best I could. Mere seconds later, I nearly brained myself on the outstretched arm of a frozen thug. He stood motionless, one leg stretched out behind him, clearly off-balance and with a crowbar clutched in his hand. I ducked under him, and kept running.

"I see you," I called out, as soon as I caught sight of frenzied movement up ahead. Another two men had been frozen on either side of the street, one apparently caught midway through vaulting over a small heap of trash. Clockblocker was about a block ahead, ducked behind a car. Judging by the lack of bullet holes in its surface, I guessed he'd probably frozen it.

In front of him, a lone thug stood with gun in hand. As I stepped closer, the steel of my armor scuffed against the ground. The goon must have heard—he whirled around, weapon shaking as he regarded me with wild eyes.

"Can you distract him?" Weld asked. I snorted.

Getting the best running start I could, I leapt clean over a nearby car. Wind whipped at my armor, tugging at the clothing beneath it as I landed in a crouch. The gun went off with another _bang,_ but the shot went wide. I didn't bother slowing down, and within seconds the gunner was backing frantically away, slurring out something uncomplimentary.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Clockblocker poking his head out from behind his makeshift barricade, but I paid him no mind. The thug shot at me again, this time managing to hit the mesh over my shoulder.. I winced, feeling a light tingling sensation blooming across my upper arm. Then, the gun clicked empty.

One swing knocked his hand aside, sending the pistol skittering across the street. I grabbed his flailing arms, and pushed him down to the ground. He landed on his ass with a grunt, kicking ineffectually at my shins.

"Bulletproof, remember?" I said into the comms.

"Thanks," Clockblocker replied.

"I'm glad you're both okay," Weld interjected. "But Cobalt—before you go in, you _need_ to wait for confirmation. I get that you're new at this, but you _always_ check with the console first."

"Yeah, okay," I groaned. "And next time, can we _not_ nail me to the floor?"

Clockblocker bristled. "He was holding a gun to your _face,_ " he snapped.

"It's fine, my armor would have—"

"You don't know that," Weld cut in. "Until you actually test your visor against point-blank fire, we have to assume it might break."

"Safety first," Clockblocker said, with no small amount of irony in his voice. With how insanely dangerous the past few weeks had been, I couldn't blame him.

"Yeah." Part of me knew they had a point, and it _was_ better safe than sorry. But...

"That doesn't mean pitting you against a small army was the better option," I pointed out.

"Which is why _next time,_ you don't run in half-cocked," Clockblocker insisted.

"Fine," I conceded. "Can you tie this guy up, or not?"

The senior Ward stepped over, securing the gunman's hands behind his back with a pair of zip-ties.

"Should we go back to that apartment?" he asked, after the thug was secured.

"Yes," confirmed Weld. "You can cuff the rest of them as you go. The police will pick them up, and I'd like you two to investigate the place they were trying to rob." Clockblocker made a mock salute, despite the fact that his superior had no way of seeing him.

As we walked, occasionally stopping to restrain a frozen goon or, if that wasn't possible from where they were standing, to hamper their mobility as best we could before we moved on.

It only took a few minutes to make our way back to the area the fight had started at, though by then most of the remaining suspects had fled. There were a few that were still frozen, and some that hadn't managed to walk away after the fight. The gunman who'd been pinning me down was lying on the ground, as was the guy with the knife and the one I'd hit with a tire iron.

Clockblocker bent down to examine each of them in turn, then flipped them onto their stomachs and tied their hands behind their backs.

"Merchants," he said aloud, pointing to a set of rubber bands wrapped around the leader's wrist."

I poked at one of the thugs with a toe. He didn't stir, but I could see from where I stood that his chest was rising and falling steadily.

"Come on," Clockblocker prompted, jerking his head toward the apartment door. Reaching out, he rapped his knuckles twice against the worn wood.

"Hello?" he said, loudly enough that it could be heard through his mask. "It's Clockblocker, with the Wards. Is everyone okay?"

With a click, the door swung open. A scruffy looking woman stood uncertainly in the hallway, glancing between me and Clockblocker warily.

"What do you want?" she demanded, sounding nothing short of hostile.

"We just want to make sure you're okay," Clockblocker told her. I blinked, somewhat floored by how polite he was being.

The woman seemed less impressed. She glanced between the two of us, narrowing her eyes as she looked at me. Then, after a long moment, she folded her arms over her chest.

"Come in, then."


	27. Be More Careful

**I feel the urge to apologize for being late here, even though I scheduled these for Mondays. But... yeah. Here it is, technically on time!**

* * *

The inside of the apartment was almost as run-down as its exterior, and our guide certainly wasn't getting any friendlier.

"I don't know you," she said suspiciously, the instant my foot was over the threshold.

"I'm a Ward," I told her. "I just started."

She nodded, relaxing just a little. "What's your name, then?"

"Um..." I flailed for a moment, suddenly remembering that I hadn't actually picked a new one yet. The last two weeks had been a haze of tinkering and occasional meals with my dad, and it had just slipped my mind.

"I don't actually have one," I admitted. "It's been hectic lately." The woman gave me another odd look.

"It's been two weeks," Clockblocker pointed out, incredulous.

"I was busy," I insisted, and he chuckled at my expense. It was partly his fault, too, since he'd started enabling me and calling me Cobalt while we were in costume. Probably because Weld and Flechette had done the same, since that was how we were first introduced, and I hadn't bothered to come up with a new name myself.

Clockblocker shook his head as if my behavior were beyond his comprehension, and I guessed he was probably smirking under his visor. He let it drop, though, and asked after the old woman's name.

"Ellen," she supplied, folding her arms across her chest. Her brow was still scrunched up into an unfriendly scowl, though I was beginning to realize that some of that was just her age.

"Hello, Ellen," the senior Ward said, smiling politely. "I'm guessing you're in charge around here?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes. And don't patronize me."

It was hard to tell through the faceplate, but he looked suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to be rude."

"What do you want?"

"The police will probably need a statement from you," he told her. "But we just wanted to ask, why were those men here?"

Ellen scowled. "They wanted supplies, mostly meds. We haven't got any, anyway."

"They were Merchants, right?" The scowl deepened, and new lines seemed to etch themselves across her forehead even as I watched.

"Yes. They've been trying to take over the neighborhood."

"They're gone now, at least," he offered. She turned an annoyed glare on the pair of us, apparently not at all comforted by his optimism.

"They'll be back. They always are."

"I'll let Miss Militia know," Clockblocker promised. "She can help."

Ellen scoffed. "I'd trade the whole damn team for a working elevator."

I turned to glance at Clockblocker. His face was hidden, but I got the impression he was just as floored as I was.

"Um, what?" I asked, baffled.

She waved a hand. "Just a construction problem, never mind."

"What is it," I asked, suddenly curious. Then I stopped, and hastily amended, "If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

Ellen gave me another calculating glare. "There's some trouble with the fifth floor, the ceiling's faulty. A neighbor of mine says he can fix it, but first we need to haul all the tools and lumber up there."

"I could do it," I offered.

The woman stared at me, and I suddenly felt a bit like a bug under a microscope.

"My armor makes me a lot stronger than I would be," I explained. She shrugged, and jerked her head down the hall.

"You're welcome to it, then."

"I'll come with her, if that's okay?" Clockblocker said, gesturing at me with one hand. Ellen just spread her arms, as if to ask why she would possibly care about that, and led the way into the building.

As we walked, we passed a row of apartment doors—some had been left open, revealing curious eyes and, occasionally, furtive glances. It was startling how many of them there were, in such a cramped space. Were other apartments not suitable, or was it just that there was safety in numbers?

Near the end of the hall, a tall man with snow white hair was sitting on the bottom of a flight of stairs, rubbing at his temples. As we approached, he looked up in surprise.

"The Wards?" he asked, glancing between Clockblocker and I.

"Yeah," Clockblocker replied. "Co—uh, my teammate here wanted to help haul some stuff upstairs."

"My armor makes me stronger," I explained, feeling a bit stupid even as I spoke— _obviously_ I had a power that would help, since I'd offered. Thankfully instead of pointing that out, the man only nodded and gestured at a rather large pile of wood in the corner.

"We could haul it ourselves, but I'm not about to turn down someone who could do it faster."

"All this, then?" I asked, gesturing at the heap on the floor.

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Looks manageable."

"I need to go talk to the cops, okay?" Clockblocker said, jerking his thumb toward the apartment entrance. "That shouldn't take too long, and then I'll come up and meet you."

"Okay."

He still hesitated, but when I finally urged him to just _go already—_ quietly enough that it wouldn't be heard past my visor—he did turn around and walk back to the front of the building. I wasn't sure if I should be touched or offended, though I suspected he probably just didn't want to leave me alone with innocent civilians.

Scowling a little at that, I picked up a little more of the lumber than was strictly necessary. Then, looking down, I realized that there were only a couple of boards left. Shrugging to myself, I went ahead and picked those up, too.

The man in the doorway stared at me, then broke out in a grin. "This way," he said, and led the way up the stairs.

About halfway up, I began to consider that I _might_ have been better off making two trips. It wasn't that the load was too heavy, but with how bulky it was I was having trouble balancing everything. The fact that it was all long boards that kept knocking into the walls certainly didn't help, nor did the narrowness of the staircase. I could definitely see why they'd been reluctant to make this same trip more than a dozen times.

With my armor, it didn't take all that long to reach the top. Once the ground leveled out, I placed my burden gingerly on the floor, then looked up at the faulty ceiling. Though, now that I was actually seeing it, 'faulty' seemed like a bit of an understatement. There was a massive hole torn in one corner of the roof, and the otherwise nice-looking loft that took up the fifth floor was partially exposed to the elements.

"Thanks," the old man said. "I don't suppose you'd mind bringing up a stepladder, too?

I shrugged—after all, I didn't get tired. May as well help out while Clockblocker dealt with the police.

The ladder took a long time, mostly because I had to walk agonizingly slowly in order to keep it from hitting the walls. Angling it around the corner was tricky, too, and by the time I reached the top again I was more than ready to put it down. The old man seemed happy, though, and almost immediately dragged the thing over to the hole in the ceiling and started working.

I watched him for a moment, before stepping forward and handing him one of the boards as he reached down. He blinked, then accepted the lumber with a wide smile. I kept it up for a while after that—I didn't actually know what I was doing well enough to help with the work itself, but I could at least hand him things. Besides, it felt kind of nice, and he seemed to like to talk as he worked.

"It'd be great to be able to use this room," he explained, as he continued positioning some of the timber over the hole. "We've got too many people cramped downstairs, and it wouldn't be too hard to bring a few sleeping bags up here."

"Glad I could help," I said. He grinned, then turned back to the hole in the ceiling.

"They're probably finished downstairs," he told me, as I reached down to grab another board. "You should probably go." Glancing at the clock, I was startled to find that it was almost eleven.

I nodded, and started back down the stairs. "Hold up," he called out, and I froze midstep, twisting to look over my shoulder.

"Thanks," he said again, beaming.

Unsure of what to say to that, I just muttered, "No problem," and retreated back downstairs. It was only after I'd reached the bottom that I realized I still didn't know the old man's name.

Clockblocker met me at the foot of the staircase, looking much more at ease now that I was finished.

"The police just finished," he told me. "They wanted to stick around to investigate a bit more, but..."

I grimaced. The Wards were spread incredibly thin lately, and I imagined it was probably similar for the police.

"Nothing actually got stolen," he continued, with a helpless shrug. "They can arrest the guys we tied up, but this kind of thing just isn't that high priority compared to everything else that's going on."

"Should we go, then?" I asked.

"Would you like anything to eat, first?" asked a young woman I didn't recognize.

I fidgeted for a moment, before shaking my head. It was tempting, I hadn't had nearly enough to eat this morning and using my armor always meant I was starving afterwards. But that was sort of the problem—to actually fill up, I'd need a lot of food, and I'd feel guilty accepting it from people who probably didn't have much to spare.

After that, Clockblocker just needed to ask Weld about whether or not we should continue on our patrol. Technically we'd finished over fifteen minutes ago, but we hadn't spent much of that time actually patrolling.

Weld seemed to think it was fine for us to go back, though. With that settled, Clockblocker put a hand on the doorknob—and froze.

"Uh, Clockblocker?" I prompted, glancing between him and the door.

"I think there's someone outside," he murmured, placing an ear against the door. "I heard voices."

"Isn't it just the police?" I whispered back.

He shook his head. "They left. You were up there for a while, remember?"

One of the civilians living in the apartment glanced between us, taking in our stiff postures and the way Clockblocker was leaning against the door. Eyes wide, she backed up into the hallway and disappeared into one of the rooms.

"It might be nothing," Weld told us over the comms. "But just in case, be ready when Clockblocker opens the door." I nodded in assent.

"Ready," Clockblocker hissed. His faceplate hid whatever expression he might've been wearing, but I could tell from his tone of voice that he was tense.

"Go," he said, and shoved the door open. Then he ducked to the side, and I took up position in the doorway.

For a moment, I wondered if we were just being paranoid. There didn't seem to be anything interesting or noteworthy outside, except for the ever-present signs of decay. Then, something _exploded_ next to my ear.

I reeled, flailing one arm defensively in front of me as the other gripped the doorway for balance. There was a muffled yelp, and when I finally turned to face my assailant I saw that he was holding the side of his head with one hand and spewing profanities.

As he let go and took on a more aggressive posture, I caught a glimpse of ragged grey hair and a dirty-looking face. To my surprise, he looked almost as shocked as I was, and his mouth had gaped wide open in terror.

Before I could really process any of that, the man brought his hand up towards my visor—still cracked. Hastily, I put a forearm in front of my face, and felt the next blast of his power dissipate relatively harmlessly against my armor.

"You're not supposed to be here!" he shouted, then lurched forward as if to try and grab me. Halfway through, he aborted the attempt in favor of diving away from me, landing awkwardly on the street.

When I turned to see what he'd been looking at, I found Clockblocker standing in the doorway with his arm outstretched.

"I'll distract him," I said. "His attacks didn't get through my armor."

"Be careful of your visor," Weld reminded me, but didn't argue with the rest of the plan. I didn't get a chance to try to carry it out, though. Not before I was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot.

"I need to take cover," Clockblocker shouted into the mic. "Try and get rid of whoever has the gun."

Grunting my understanding into my mic, I stepped forward and glanced around. It didn't take long to find the Merchants—they were crouching in a small alley. There were less of them this time, only three, but all of them had firearms.

A bullet pinged off my shoulder and past my ear, and I couldn't help but flinch despite the fact that it hadn't hurt me. They were probably less dangerous than the cape—well, no, they were _definitely_ less dangerous than the cape—but they had a much longer range, and they _could_ hurt Clockblocker. Until I took them down, I wouldn't have any backup. With that in mind, I sprinted into the group of gun-toting Merchants.

One of them shrieked as I came at him, and once again I couldn't help but notice the shocked expression on his face. It didn't stop me from slamming an elbow into his chest, though. He went down without much fuss, and I pushed past him to engage the other two. One of them clicked empty, after emptying six rounds into my breastplate—the strongest part of my armor by far. It didn't even dent.

 _Idiot,_ I thought, ignoring him and focusing on the other one. Either he'd run, or come at me with his fists—neither possibility was any threat.

The last Merchant was aiming for my visor, and even managed a glancing blow to my helmet. I made a mental note to do an actual ballistics test on it later. I was fairly sure it would've held, even as damaged as it was, but Weld was right. Until I was sure, I'd have to act as if it wouldn't, and that only made things more difficult.

Before the gunman could get a clean shot, I brought one arm up in front of my face and used the other to slap his hand away. He cried out, then tried to bolt. The idiot was already long gone, so I took a second to grab him by the back of his shirt and haul him off his feet. He sprawled on the pavement, looking up at me with wild eyes. No, not _at_ me, _past_ me.

I whirled around, and saw the cape standing not three feet away from me. Clockblocker barked out a warning, far too late for it to be of any help at all. For a moment, all I really felt was mild annoyance. His attacks might leave bruises later, and I slept badly enough as it was. Then, I realized that he was aiming for my face... and his eyes were _glowing._

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me, and I flung a hand in front of my visor. The block was plenty fast enough, but it seemed like the cape had anticipated that. His hand wrapped around my wrist, and with a loud _crack_ —far louder than any of his other attacks—my whole forearm exploded into pins and needles.

I stumbled backwards, realizing with a start that beneath the tingling numbness in my wrist, it actually _hurt._ Not much, little more than I might've expected from a scrape, but it meant that the injury was bad enough to override the pain reliever in my armor.

Sobered by the realization that I might actually have fractured or even broken something, I crouched down and took on a more defensive posture. His attack had been powerful, that was true, but he was a short-ranged striker and his eyes weren't glowing any more, which hopefully meant that he couldn't use augmented attacks like that all the time.

"Are you okay?" Clockblocker asked worriedly over the comms. I grimaced at the distraction, but the cape hadn't pressed the attack and was instead watching me warily.

"Yeah." I glanced around, noting that the last unpowered Merchant had apparently fled. "Guns are gone, you can come out. Just don't let the cape get close."

"Wasn't planning on it."

While Clockblocker ducked out from inside the apartment, I made to attack the cape. He flinched away from me, and I noticed that he was looking a lot... twitchier. His eyes were wild, and I could already see the hint of a glow building in them again.

Eager to take him down as soon as I could, I rushed forward. The pain in my wrist hadn't subsided, so I favored my right arm as I moved. Swinging at his head with the left, I was somewhat surprised when the messy punch clipped his ear. He'd been quicker before, I was almost sure.

Deciding not to question it too much, I took advantage and kicked out at his sternum. He leapt back just in time, and nearly collided with Clockblocker as he approached.

The Merchant's eyes flashed again, and he began to laugh. His voice was cracked and husky, probably from smoking, which made the sound more hysterical than intimidating. Then, he lunged at me with both hands, still cackling.

I jerked backwards, but he was moving too fast—he'd thrown himself at me with no regard for keeping his balance, which meant that I couldn't really get out of his way. Both his hands seemed to be aimed at my visor, so I had no choice but to sweep them away with my good arm.

At least, that was what I tried to do. One of his arms was knocked away easily, but the other was pulled back just in time. He flailed, trying to reach my face—and I reacted, pulling back and punching him in the gut with my left arm.

Pain, _real_ pain lanced up my arm, as hot and sharp as anything I'd ever felt with my armor on. I swore reflexively, though not as loudly as the Merchant cape. Despite the potential danger, I couldn't help but clutch my injured wrist to my chest and curl protectively around it.

I hadn't thought it would hurt this much. It probably wouldn't have, if I hadn't acted on instinct like that. My armor had probably protected the joint from most of the force of the punch, but _most_ definitely wasn't _all_ and punching someone with a broken wrist was _not_ a good idea.

Even as I was cursing myself, I saw movement ahead of me. The cape was getting up, I realized, though a haze of shock and pain. Forcing myself to let my right hand drop, then cursing again as the motion jarred my wrist, I turned my attention back to the cape. He was laid out on the ground, groaning—but conscious despite the hit he'd just taken.

"How the hell—?" I muttered, but before I could try and restrain him he was already dragging himself to his feet. The glow in his eyes had faded again, though I couldn't remember hearing his power discharge. Maybe it protected him?

I shook my head, trying to clear it. It didn't matter _how_ he'd protected himself, not if he was _getting up._

Though, he seemed to be taking his sweet time about it. He'd been motionless for several seconds now, not even breathing... Oh.

Feeling rather slow, I looked up and found Clockblocker staring at me. I couldn't tell if he was smiling or not, but his tone was warm as he said, "It's okay, he's down."

"Good," I managed, and flopped down onto the ground. My wrist still hurt, but the pain seemed to have dulled somewhat. Now it was little more than a dull ache, but that was still cause for concern.

"I might have broken my wrist," I admitted, hunching protectively over the arm.

"What?" Clockblocker and Weld blurted, at almost the same time.

"He could charge his power," I explained. "I think he did something to it, and then I hit him with the same hand."

"Why?" demanded Clockblocker.

"I didn't exactly decide to do it!" I snapped, feeling defensive. "He was coming at me and I just reacted."

Weld made a frustrated noise. "I know, I'm sorry. But you need to be more careful."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know what you want me to do. I worked with Clockblocker, didn't I?"

Across the comms, I heard a defeated sigh, followed by Weld's voice. "Okay. But come back to base as soon as you can, I want you to see Panacea."

I fidgeted nervously. "Uh, are you sure?"

Panacea had been living in the same building as the Wards since the fight with Noelle, and I still didn't know why. Judging by the weird looks the other heroes kept giving her, neither did they. Even ignoring whatever that was about, when I'd run into her before it had been clear that she still didn't like me.

"We need your help with patrolling," Weld explained, "and you're a Ward now. We'll do our best to keep you healthy."

 _That_ was an odd sentiment, considering how often the Wards had been sent into combat against gangs, capes, and Endbringers in the past two weeks. I decided not to say that out loud, though.

Weld kept fussing over the comms as the police came back—looking a little frustrated by having to question the same group of people twice. I sat impatiently as the pain in my wrist faded into a persistent buzzing. It was easy to forget that no pain was still a serious problem, if I took the numbing effect of my armor into account.

Still, I shrugged off medical care, since I'd have to take off the suit for that. There wasn't much point in spending the drive back to headquarters in pain, if I could avoid it by keeping my armor on for a few more minutes. They seemed to accept that, at least, though one medical responder insisted on handing me an ice pack that was completely impossible to use over my gauntlets. Shrugging, I'd handed it off to one of the people from the apartment, reasoning that they could at least use it to keep food cold, or _something._

Clockblocker and I were driven back to headquarters in the back of a PRT van. It took almost an hour with the roads the way they were, and by the time we got out again my wrist had swollen and started to hurt again. I bit my lip, prodding at my gauntlet with one finger and frowning.

"How bad is it?" the senior Ward asked, peering over my shoulder as we walked through the front doors.

"Not sure," I said, "But probably pretty bad."

He gave me an odd look. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," I told him, and he frowned. Then, realization hit me.

"Oh," I blurted. "I guess I didn't tell you."

"Huh?"

"The control center in my armor cuts off my pain response, and replaces it with something else. But there's a ceiling on that, so when something actually _hurts..._ " I trailed off, glancing curiously at his face.

His mouth fell open. "So _that's_ what happened," he breathed, looking dumbstruck. "Back when we were, um, debriefing about the thing with Arcadia, we thought you might have a brute power."

I grinned a little at that—mostly his dumbfounded expression. "Nope. It's all in the armor."

 _Not for long, though._ That made me smile all the wider.

Before long, we'd made our way to the common room. Weld greeted us at the door, and I suspected the only thing keeping him from grabbing me by the arm and checking the injury himself was the fact that he'd stick to me.

"She hasn't been healing people lately," he told us, "but I talked to Renick, and he said we should try asking her."

Weld led the way to where Panacea was staying, in one of the cordoned-off rooms that the Wards used. She was still there, which seemed a little odd since it had to be at least noon by now. Then again, I'd woken up at nearly eleven at night just four days ago.

"Amy?" Clockblocker—well, Dennis now that we were out of costume—called out, knocking softly on the door. "You in there?"

"Yes." There was a quiet shuffling noise, before the door eased open. Panacea stood there, and judging by the outfit she was wearing and her mussed up hair, she'd just gotten up. It was still strange seeing heroes around the base, not just out of costume but in their pajamas.

"Sorry to bother you," he continued, rubbing at the back of his neck, "but we just had a patrol go pear-shaped and Taylor got hurt—"

"No."

He cut off abruptly, and I felt my heart sink. The look on her face was hard to place, but she looked almost _panicked._ Did she really hate me that much?

Dennis stiffened, then clenched a fist. "Look, I know you guys don't get along that well, but—"

"I can't, okay?" Panacea snapped. "Not right now. No exceptions."

"Her wrist is broken!" he said indignantly.

"Cl—Dennis, it's fine," I told him, looking anywhere but at Panacea. "It's not serious, I don't think."

That was a blatant lie. I hadn't gotten it looked at yet, so there was no way to know how bad it was. But I didn't want her help, not anymore.

Frustrated, I said a few curt goodbyes and headed for the medical center. It'd probably be a week or two before I could use my right hand again, and that was if the injury was on the minor side of things.

I worried over that in my mind for a moment, and a large part of me was very nearly ready to go back to the common room and beg Panacea to reconsider. Then, as I considered the merits of leaving the armor on just to get rid of the pain from the break, I stopped in my tracks.

There was no rule saying I had to put in the control center _last,_ was there? I'd never really thought to do anything else, but hypothetically...

Could I use my armor independently of my body?

I veered off course, heading instead towards Armsmaster's lab. There was no way I could think of a means of effectively growing two extra limbs and _not_ test it immediately. I could go to the medics later.

* * *

 **I'm not actually a huge fan of how this turned out, but I made the mistake of assuming I'd have plenty of time to write around the holidays. So, it's not quite as polished as I'd like, but alas—too much time spent lurking in the corner at family gatherings.**


	28. A Matter of Safety

**Well, this is officially over 100K words now—so to anyone who filters for 100K+ that's just tuning in... hi. You must have a _lot_ of time on your hands.**

* * *

The second I made it into the lab, I got to work trying out my idea to use my armor as extra limbs. I had... mixed success.

The idea itself worked—if anything, it was easier than I expected. It was sort of awkward trying to position myself in my chair, and the armor dug into my back whenever I moved, but both 'arms' could be bent over my shoulders, and each hand could be moved independently.

My problem wasn't that I had to make them _move_ separately, it was that I had to _think_ about moving them separately. I was used to two hands, and I could more or less use them in different ways at the same time. Simple tasks, like holding whatever I was tinkering with or grabbing tools and handing them to myself, were easily managed without much concentration. But actually trying to tinker with three separate hands was sort of like trying to rub my stomach, pat my head, and thread a needle—all at the same time. That, and if my left hand was clumsier than my right hand, my armor was _much_ worse.

The end result was that I usually just used the extra arms to hold things in place, and did all the fine manipulation with my uninjured hand, which wasn't my dominant one. That made for a lot of melted wires and dropped components, not to mention how many times I almost burned myself.

It was slow going, which was a bit disappointing. Despite that, I kept tinkering. I didn't get nearly as much work done as I might have, but I still managed to finish the cybernetics that would go into my left arm. They'd been designed to be more or less self-contained, meaning that I didn't have to install _everything_ I'd planned all at once—each 'chunk' of the finished project could work on its own. After all, I really didn't want my first test of the cybernetics to involve poking around in my ribcage.

That meant that finishing the arm was a good breaking point. Putting the equipment down, I paused for a moment to stretch. I extended the armor, too, more on a whim than because it could actually get stiff. It was satisfying, in a strange sort of way, to feel four arms fanning out behind me at once.

Naturally, that was when Dennis walked in. His face contorted, shifting through fear, disgust, and amusement, before eventually settling on something in between the three. I waved at him—with one of the mechanical arms, of course.

"Uh," he managed, glancing from the armor, to me, and then back again. "Dinner?"

"Sure." I grinned, which hopefully made me look a little less like a human spider, disconnected the armor—and bit off a scream.

I'd completely forgotten about my wrist.

"Fuck!" I yelped, standing straight up and nearly knocking the table over.

"What's wrong?" Dennis demanded, stepping forward and hovering over my shoulder. A stream of curses left my mouth as I hopped in place, before tenderly touching my wrist.

"Taylor," he said, now with an edge to his voice, "did you ever go to the doctor?"

I winced.

"Come on. _Now."_ I followed him out, flushing a little. I'd completely forgotten that there was anything wrong with my wrist. Even the dull ache that had gotten past my armor had more or less subsided while I was tinkering.

Fortunately for both my health and my pride, the wrist wasn't actually broken—just badly sprained. The doctor wrapped it, then told me to ice it and keep it elevated until the swelling went down. He also chewed me out for putting off coming to see him, while I promised to come straight to him if my hand started bothering me again.

Dennis and Weld also took turns telling me how incredibly stupid I had been.

"It wasn't broken," I protested weakly.

"You didn't know that," Weld snapped, looking uncharacteristically angry. "The bone could have set wrong, and then you'd risk not being able to use it the same way!" I winced. I had no idea if a few hours would actually have made that much of a difference, but the idea of losing functionality in my hand was enough to make me promise to go straight to the doctor if I were ever injured again.

Dinner was awkward, too, especially since it had been delayed by the medical visit. Missy and Chris had already eaten, but Lily had waited. It was a nice gesture, but I couldn't help feeling guilty. That, and Dennis kept glowering in turns at me, his plate, and the general direction of Panacea's room.

Despite all that, it wasn't as painful as I'd expected. I was perfectly content focusing all my energy on not stabbing myself with my fork—I was almost as bad at eating with my left hand as I was tinkering with it—and Lily and Weld did an admirable job at carrying the conversation.

I probably left the table a bit too soon to be polite, but by then I was itching to submit the first piece of the cybernetics. They still weren't even close to done, but even just the portion that I _had_ finished could be useful in the field. I wanted a head start on getting it approved—it could serve as a first test of the gear, and I assumed it would make it easier to pass the rest of the cybernetics if one piece had already been installed successfully.

Chris had told me where to go over a week ago as part of a tour of the base, and I eagerly retraced my steps back to the office of Dr. Drummond. I wasn't completely sure whether or not I was violating procedure by just carrying my notes into his office without an appointment, but I was a bit too excited to worry about it.

He let me in, so I assumed he didn't mind. I launched into an explanation almost immediately, trusting that he'd comprehend enough of the tinkerbabble to guess what the tech was for. And, the longer I talked, the more disquieted Dr. Drummond started to look.

"It's only a small piece," I explained frantically, "and I wish I'd started on my right hand, since that would probably let me get around the sprained wrist, but—"

Drummond shifted in his seat, still frowning. "Taylor," he began, very deliberately, "is this something to be integrated into your body?"

My heart sank—that tone of voice was never a good sign. "Yes," I admitted. I'd already mentioned that, probably more than once. Why was he asking _again?_

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward and settling his elbows on his desk. "I'm sorry, but it's very unlikely that will get approved. Not while you're in the Wards, at least. You could ask again, once you've graduated, but—"

"What?" My left fist clenched—the right was still wrapped up and throbbing.

"It's a matter of safety," he said evenly.

"Safety?" I goggled at him, mouth falling open. "You let the Wards fight _Leviathan,_ and I can't use my own tech?!"

He winced. "It's untested, and designed to _cut into your body._ Forgive me, but I cannot sign off on that. Until you graduate, it's our responsibility to keep you safe."

"It's my specialization," I insisted, "I can't just _not_ use it! At least let someone look at it, and check if the design would work."

Drummond folded his hands together and frowned again. "As far as I can tell," he began, glancing over the drawings I'd handed him, "This is by it's very nature completely impossible to test. It is designed for your specifications, and using it on anyone else would be guaranteed to end in disaster. _You_ are the only viable test subject, and until we actually _use_ it, there is very little we can do to ensure its safety."

"You could at least _look_ at it!"

He sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "We could. But there are numerous risks, and it requires an incredible amount of precision to avoid cutting any major arteries."

"It's designed to calibrate as it goes!"

"It's _too dangerous."_

"I don't _care!"_

The outburst left a ringing silence hanging in the air. I hadn't meant to shout, and I definitely hadn't wanted to say _that,_ but the shocked look on his face gave me a grim sense of satisfaction.

Then, he leaned back and gave me a measuring look. "That," he said, scooping up the design and placing it into a folder, "is why my job exists."

Scowling, I held out a hand. He hesitated, then handed over the folder. I snatched it away from him—rude, maybe, but it was better than hitting him.

"I hope you understand, I'm only interested in your safety." I didn't respond, choosing instead to storm out and slam the door behind me.

Snubbing him felt good, in a sickly kind of way, but I was still itching to hit something. For a moment, I considered asking one of the other Wards to spar, but they were all exhausted. Well, except Weld, but I couldn't actually fight him in my armor. Not without sticking to him.

I passed Chris on my way back to the lab. I wasn't entirely sure what my expression looked like, but he shifted apprehensively from foot to foot as he said, "You okay?"

"Fine," I gritted out, willing myself to stay civil. It wasn't _his_ fault, and taking it out on the only other tinker on the team wasn't something I wanted to do.

He didn't push, at least. I brushed past him as quickly as I could, silently resolving to apologize later. The hot feeling in my gut didn't start to ease until I was back in the lab, staring at the finished product.

I hadn't brought it to the meeting—it was heavy, and Chris had told me that the first meeting was usually more about the basic concept than anything else. Would Drummond have taken it, if I had?

Glancing briefly at the door, I looked around for a suitable container. My eyes fell on a cloth bag Armsmaster had hung on the wall. It was full of wires and various odds and ends, possibly junk that he didn't want to throw out in case it turned out to be useful. I moved all of that onto a nearby workbench, bundled the finished cybernetics up in my jacket, and shoved the whole thing into the bag. Then, I poured in some of the random scrap, as well as a few baggies of various components, until the fabric was completely covered over.

I wasn't entirely sure what I planned on doing with it, but I felt a little better now that it was with me. Shrugging the bag up over my shoulder, I ducked out of the lab.

No one else saw me as I left, which made it a bit easier. I was still itching for someone to vent my frustration at, and I _didn't_ want it to be the Wards that I had to live with—or Panacea, for that matter. Instead of sticking around until the inevitable explosion, I decided that it would be better to go home and cool off.

Besides, I was supposed to sleep at my house that night anyway. I'd been working almost nonstop the past week, so dad had asked for me to hang around after my first patrol. Now that I had to scrap most of my ideas—and that thought still _burned—_ I could work just as effectively at home as in the lab. Notebooks were pretty easy to move around, after all.

It was only when I'd actually left the building that I realized I didn't have a ride. For a moment, I considered just walking. My house wasn't far... but the Merchants had been getting increasingly bold, and I didn't have my armor with me. I'd already made that trip once with dad, and that had been dangerous enough. A teenage girl walking alone at night was begging for trouble.

With that in mind, I drew out my phone. Dad had bought one at some point during the month I'd been missing, to keep track of the case, so I could call him and ask for a ride.

I wasn't surprised to see a text message. The Wards sometimes tried to get in touch with me that way, though I hadn't yet gotten into the habit of checking it as much as I should have. I _was_ surprised when I checked who it was from. It was an unknown number—there weren't supposed to _be_ any unknown numbers, at least none that would be able to contact me on this phone.

Curious, I opened the message, only to frown at its contents.

 _thx for the help, im buying her the bookends! meet the store 2nite 11?_

 _-T_

After a few seconds of staring blankly at the screen, it clicked. Well, _clicked_ wasn't really the right word. It was more that I finally admitted to myself that there was only one person that could get this number that wouldn't already be on my contacts—Tattletale. That still left me wondering what the hell she was talking about.

"Still not a thinker," I muttered under my breath, glancing over the message. The 'thank you' was fairly obvious, she'd said I'd helped her with Coil. But the rest... what _store?_ Was she seriously gift shopping?

I typed out a quick message— _What are you talking about?_ —before heaving a sigh and deleting it. She was probably being obtuse for a reason, and I guessed there might be someone keeping track of my phone. Instead, I replied,

 _Which store, again?_

For a moment, I stood on the sidewalk outside the Wards building, shivering slightly. It was _cold_ without a jacket. A minute passed, and then two, before I made a frustrated noise and decided to call dad instead of waiting around for a response.

There was still no response by the time dad pulled up to the building, and I wasted no time diving inside. The heater in our old car had been on its last legs, but he'd been borrowing Kurt's truck for the last few days, so it was nice and warm inside.

We didn't really talk much as we rode. I found myself staring out the window, until dad tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped, startled, and he pointed out the windshield at our house.

He led the way to the door, opening it with a spare set of keys and motioning for me to go in first. As he followed in after me, he jerked a head towards the living room behind him and asked, "Would you like to watch a movie?"

"Sounds great," I said, fidgeting slightly as the strap of the bag dug into my hand. "I'll be right there." He nodded and turned to fiddle with the television. With a quick glance to make sure his back was turned, I crept down the hallway and eased open the basement door.

It was oddly reminiscent of the time I'd spent building my first suit of armor, when I had to creep down there whenever I wanted to get any work done. I left the door open a crack—it tended to click when it shut, and I didn't want to make too much noise.

Once I reached the basement floor, it took less than a minute to glance around, eyes straining in the dim light that filtered in through the doorway, and slide the bag behind a pile of boxes.

Feeling much more relaxed, I climbed the stairs as silently as I could, then walked into the living room. Dad was still messing with the DVD player, and didn't look like he'd noticed anything. "Need any help?"

He shook his head, and gave me a weary smile. "No, thank you," he said. "I just got it working."

"Okay."

There was a long silence after that, but it was more comfortable than not. We both sat down on the couch, and I hit the mute button while the initial previews starting up—dad had always hated advertisements.

"Are you alright?"

I jumped, startled, and glanced up at dad. He was frowning, and there was a tenseness in his face that made him look drawn and tired.

"Why?" I asked.

"You're glaring at the screen," he pointed out.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Is everything okay?" he repeated, catching my eye before I could look away. I frowned, debating the idea of telling him, and then sighed.

"It's nothing."

He wouldn't like the cybernetics any more than the PRT had, and I didn't really want to argue with him.

There was a long silence after that, before he sat back with a sigh. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he asked.

"I'm okay," I insisted. "It's just... I had some trouble with a project I've been working on."

"That's all?"

I looked up sharply, almost ready to be angry—but his expression wasn't dismissive. It was... weird. A sort of mix between curiosity and sympathy.

"Yeah," I affirmed, squirming in my seat. Suddenly, I found myself wishing I'd stayed at the lab a little longer. My thoughts turned longingly to my desk upstairs, littered with crumpled paper and metallic odds and ends. It was nearly clean, now that everything had been moved to the lab...

Dad sighed, and turned to look at the television. The main menu had come up while I wasn't looking. With his attention diverted I felt myself relax a little, but the silence that fell over us was _not_ the comfortable kind. I paused, wishing I could think of something to say, and then gave up. I'd never been that good at small talk, and my time underground hadn't helped any.

Thankfully, dad hit play and the movie negated the need for conversation. It still didn't feel quite right, and I found myself zoning out more than once. By the time the movie ended, I wouldn't have been able to name the main character, or explain the plot.

Dad let me duck upstairs as soon as it was over—I wasn't sure if he'd realized that I hadn't been paying much attention to the story, but he gave me a kind and oddly knowing smile.

As soon as I was back in my room, I collapsed bonelessly onto my bed. The ceiling above me was painted a light cream color, and I spent a moment tracing a spidery crack across it.

Was it true, what I'd yelled at Drummond? Did I care if the cybernetics were safe or not?

I tapped a light rhythm on my thigh with one finger, suddenly wishing for the power to dissect my thoughts and just _check,_ instead of having to try and pick apart what I felt. It wasn't that I didn't care if I got hurt—actually, I thought it might be the opposite. I liked having my armor on, but it wasn't practical to wear it walking around outside, I couldn't use it when I was eating or leave it on while I slept. The cybernetics would be permanent, constant. That had to be safer than just wandering around in a city that was falling apart, completely unprotected!

 _Safety, my ass,_ I thought. I wasn't safe while I was fighting the Merchants, Dennis wasn't safe when he was being mobbed by half a dozen thugs. They'd let _Missy_ fight _Leviathan,_ and it was my _tech_ that was supposed to be dangerous.

I gritted my teeth, fuming silently. This was pointless. I'd already told Drummond all of this, and I needed to get to sleep soon. For a moment, I pondered doing a bit of sketching before I went to sleep—maybe something to add to my exoskeleton.

Scowling, I turned over to look at my desk—but my eye caught on a flash of white on the floor next to me. Only a corner was visible, the rest obscured by the shadow of my blankets, but I could see the intricate web of wires that had, at one point, been meant to stretch beneath the skin of my hands.

"Damn it," I muttered aloud. My own voice sounded small and sulky, and I regretted speaking immediately after the words left my mouth.

And, into the silence, my cell phone buzzed. I started, then fished it out of my pocket and held it up.

 _where we met, silly_

I blinked. Then, slowly, realization dawned on me.

"Bookends," I murmured, feeling a bit stupid.

Curious, I scrolled back up to the first text. Tattletale wanted to meet at eleven o'clock. It was... a quarter to ten. Getting there the first time had taken me over an hour, but that had been a meandering route through the docks. This time, with a destination...

I stopped, remembering how many times Weld had griped that I was being reckless. Tattletale probably wasn't being malicious, though—she'd broken down laughing when she found out about Coil. Then again, I didn't have my armor, and that area had been deep into gang territory even before Leviathan's attack.

 _With the cybernetics, that wouldn't be a problem._

Sitting up, I gripped the phone in my good hand, wincing at the sharp ache in my other wrist. I flexed it gently, biting back a grunt as the joint throbbed in protest. I shouldn't be angry about that. It was that Merchant's fault if it was anyone's, and of _course_ Panacea didn't trust me.

"It'll heal," I told myself. Then, still feeling restless, I cast one final glance at my phone. The text seemed to stare back at me.

If I didn't go tonight, I wasn't sure I'd get a second chance to see what she wanted—not when I was getting more and more involved with the Wards, and she was probably dealing with the fallout of Noelle and Leviathan.

It'd take a while to walk there, longer if I had trouble finding it. I didn't _think_ I would, but even if I didn't... I'd have to leave soon, to make it on time. Whether or not I was meeting Tattletale, I had to decide now.

I shouldn't even be considering it. I had a sprained wrist and no weapons, and my flesh-and-blood body was so _fragile._ There were the Merchants, the ABB, the unknown members of the Undersiders, and even my fellow Wards to consider—I doubted they'd approve of clandestine meetings with enemy thinkers.

Going would be stupid, and I wasn't stupid. Maybe I was a bit more impulsive with my armor, because I could _afford_ to be more impulsive. Maybe the months of being cooped up underground had left me feeling restless and bored, maybe I enjoyed being able to leap over rusted out cars and block bullets, but I _wasn't stupid._

Another hissing sigh slipped between my teeth, and I glanced back down at the phone. It glowed softly, the text still displayed in small, neat lettering. My room felt suddenly stifling.

I was halfway down the stairs when anxiety—or, more likely, the last of my higher reasoning **—** began nagging at me. Would the Wards find out? Doubtful, unless they had some way of tracking my phone.

"Better not to bring it," I muttered. Just in case.

Other than that, the only way I'd be caught was if I literally ran into a patrol and, well, walking around wasn't illegal.

With that in mind, I climbed back upstairs and tossed the phone onto my bed. I wasn't going to go out totally unarmed, either. There was a can of pepper spray in my closet, a gift from dad after a slight uptick of muggings in our area.

That was better than nothing, but I still wasn't about to wander around in the middle of the night with only pepper spray for protection. But... it wasn't the only weapon in the house.

The cybernetics were right where I'd left them, buried under a pile of miscellaneous electronics and swaddled in a pale gray sweatshirt. I shifted aside the components with as much care as I could manage in my excitement, but left the sweater where it was. Bundled up like that, it might be mistaken for a shopping bag or something.

It wasn't a good idea to use the new tech in my house. For one thing, I would bleed a bit. Nothing that would pose any real danger to me, but enough that I didn't want to risk doing it my room or being walked in on. That, and I didn't have my armor—therefore, I didn't have a painkiller.

Again, it shouldn't be _that_ bad... but it was better to find out I was wrong about that somewhere my dad wouldn't come bursting through the door.

Stopping to knot the ends of the bag together—which took a lot longer than it had any right to, with only one fully functioning hand—and hefted it back upstairs.

It was still dangerous and impulsive, I knew. But I wouldn't have to go that far before I installed the new tech, and that wouldn't take long. _Then,_ I could fight back.

As quietly as I could, I eased open the backdoor and landed in a crouch on the grass outside. With the pepper spray in my left hand and the bag of cybernetics resting on my right shoulder, I started walking.


	29. A Kind of Graceful Strength

**I have no idea what to write here. Seriously, what do I _do_ with this space? Should I just put a pun-a-day or something? I wouldn't bother, but the formatting looks so _bad_ without it!**

* * *

If it had been cold outside _before,_ a few sunless hours had only made it worse. I shivered as I walked, casting the occasional longing glance at the bag hanging from my shoulder. Of course, I _could_ have found another sweatshirt, if I'd planned this out better. Then again, if I _had_ then I probably wouldn't have gone out in the first place.

It was dark out, and something about the constant sounds of dripping water gave the streets an eerie quality that made me jumpy. I startled at just about every noise—and there _were_ noises, more than I would have expected and _far_ more than I could chalk up to stray cats and distant cars. I never quite _saw_ anyone else... but I only managed to walk a few blocks before my nerves frayed and I veered into a nearby alley, fumbling with the bag as I went.

I'd meant to go farther away, to reduce the chances of being noticed... but now that I was actually outside, my priorities had shifted. I wanted protection, and I wanted it _now._

With that in mind, I sat hunched over with my back against the wall, wincing as water soaked into my jeans. I'd be willing to bet that some of it was still left over from Leviathan's attack—the weather had been oddly humid and rainy ever since.

Doing my best to ignore the damp, I shuffled around in an attempt to get at the cybernetics. Tying the bag shut had been frustrating, but untying it was bad enough that I was forced to use my right hand to steady it, which left me biting off curses and hoping no one would walk by and hear me. Once I finally got it open, I disentangled the hoodie and draped it over my shoulders. Rolling up my sleeves, I started prepping the cybernetics.

'Prepping' mostly involved unfolding and extending it—I'd bunched it up as much as I could while I was transporting it, and it had to be opened wide enough to fit my arm inside. Then, I had to line it up properly—with my right hand, unfortunately. The spotty light filtering into the alleyway from a nearby streetlight wasn't exactly ideal, but I managed to get everything in more or less the right place. The rest, it could calibrate as it went.

Once I'd put it on, all that was left to do was to double and triple check each clasp, make _absolutely sure_ that it was my left hand I'd stuck into the machine, turn on the power and grit my teeth.

I swore as soon as I felt the machine around my arm contract, and cursed again when my fingers began to flex involuntarily. There was a sharp ache from elbow to wrist, and what felt like _things_ crawling under my skin, and something freezing cold winding through my veins.

The smell of iron filled the alley, and I very carefully looked away as something dripped onto the pavement beside me. Then, almost as suddenly as it started, the final clicks and whirrs sounded, metal arms retracted themselves back into the machine, and a deafening silence filled the alleyway.

My breathing sounded strangely loud to me as I opened my eyes to peer at my arm. The machine gleamed innocently—or it would have, if it hadn't been flecked red in places. Gingerly, I removed any clasps I could find and tugged it off my arm.

Head spinning, I jerked my face away, fixating instead on the brick wall next to me. That... was messy. I'd expected that, intellectually at least, but actually seeing it was another thing entirely. Mouthing another curse, I tugged at my shirt for a moment with my right hand, before finally giving up and trying my left.

Dizziness made me slump forward where I sat, but the hand itself was remarkably steady. Wincing with every movement, I slowly lifted my shirt up over my head, then put the sweatshirt on in its place. I did my best to keep the left sleeve from touching my skin as I rolled it up to my shoulder.

Then, I wrapped the shirt around my arm, flinching as it stuck and hissing when I tightened it. A few spots of red showed through, but beyond that the shirt made a good bandage. After that, I flipped the sleeve of my hoodie back down. There were cuts on my hand, too, but there wasn't much I could do about those.

Once my forearm was covered, I flexed my fingers. Then, slowly, almost reverently, I stretched my hand up as far as it would go.

It responded so perfectly that it was hard to believe I'd just shoved bits of foreign metal into it. My hand used to shake—now, I splayed my fingers and held it as still as if it had been carved from stone. Then, with an almost lazy movement, I reached down and tossed a crushed-up soda can that had been lying next to me. It rebounded off the wall, making my ears ring as flakes of brick fell to the floor.

I knew that it wasn't a good idea to make noise, but I couldn't help it—I let out a bark of delighted laughter, staring in wonder at my own hand.

It worked. Nothing about it felt unnatural, either, and now that I had _this_ to compare it to... my armor was so _clumsy._ This was perfect, this was _easy._ My hand responded instantly to my every whim, with a kind of graceful strength I'd never, ever had before.

Was this what Sophia felt like, when she was running?

Grimacing at the sour thought, I cast a last look around the alley. The bloodstained machine was more or less useless, now. Drummond was right when he'd said it would only work on me. Maybe I could change that with a little fiddling, but I doubted anyone else would _want_ to use it, now that it was... well, _fucking gross_.

I couldn't just leave it here, though. For all I knew there might be Merchants who were desperate and stupid enough to play with a mysterious tinker device covered in blood, and it could be traced back to me if the wrong people found it. Shrugging, I tucked it back into the bag, banking on it being too dark for anyone to notice that there was something wrong with it.

From there, it was just a matter of walking briskly to try and ward off the cold. I still snapped my head around every time I heard a noise, but now instead of helpless dread I was practically vibrating with readiness. If there _was_ a threat lurking in that shadowy doorway, I could fight it. That made all the difference.

I still had the pepper spray in my pocket, too. I'd briefly considered leaving it behind, but it was still my most useful ranged option. Actually, it might not be a bad idea to bring it in costume...

My thoughts were derailed a bit when I recognized the building across the street—just to the left of it, I could see a stretch of discolored pavement where I remembered Lung bursting into flames and _roaring._

Those memories were still as vivid as the day I'd made them, which didn't surprise me that much. I'd met more eerie, creepy, and disturbing villains since then, but none of them had compared to the sheer terror Lung could cause. It was hard to compete with someone who could melt asphalt, after all.

Turning my attention to the alleyway I'd met the Undersiders in, I saw a figure... well, not _lurking_ exactly. It didn't really look threatening enough.

"Hey," the shadow called, and I recognized her voice as Tattletale's.

"Hello," I replied, feeling a little odd. I didn't usually talk so casually to villains—or most heroes, for that matter.

There was a slightly awkward pause, while Tattletale took a few steps forward. I mentally kicked myself when I saw the scarf covering her mouth and nose—I was just standing there, my face almost totally uncovered.

"Sorry," she said conversationally, tugging the makeshift mask off. I made a disgruntled noise, but she only waved it off, saying, "I figured you'd come dressed up, but this is fine."

"Oh." Feeling a bit dumb, I cast about wildly for _something_ to say.

Tattletale looked me up and down, frowning. "I never thought you'd come without the armor. That's... it's really not safe around here."

I shrugged, flexing my left hand. "I had a backup."

Her brow furrowed, and her eyes glittered in the light of a nearby streetlamp. "Not something I could see from the outside... but you've got a bag full of something _dripping,_ and..." She blanched. "You _didn't."_

Flushing, I snapped, "Didn't _what."_

It was a bit refreshing to see _her_ on the back foot, for once. "I thought you could probably integrate your tech like that, but there's no _way_ you would've been able to build it that quickly... unless you joined—no, they wouldn't approve this..."

"They didn't."

Tattletale rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "Dare I ask where you installed it?"

For a moment, I considered trying to lie... but there was no point alienating her, not if she'd be able to tell anyway.

"An alley," I admitted.

She took an exaggerated breath, then let it all out in a huff. "I'm guessing you know that was a bad idea."

I shrugged. "It worked," I pointed out. "My arm feels fine."

"That's not the point, and you're smart enough to know that."

Fighting the urge to scowl, I shot a glance down at my hand. It curled into a fist, then flexed with enough force to rend metal.

"I don't regret it."

"You got lucky." Tattletale sighed. "But, I'm not your mother. I can't stop you, and I honestly don't think it would be a good idea even if I could. You might've gotten an infection and died, or run into some Merchants on the way and died, or torn up your arm and—"

"I get it."

She smirked. "Anyway, that doesn't mean it isn't good to have your gear with you all the time." The sardonic smile faded, replaced by something softer that I couldn't quite identify in the shadows of the alley.

"Here." Tattletale slid something out of her pocket, and I tensed—but it turned out to be...

"A napkin?"

Rolling her eyes, she produced a pen from another pocket and scribbled something on the napkin.

"It's an address," she explained. "I have an apartment, okay? Next time you need to use some of your tech, please... go _there,_ instead of some alley somewhere. If I'm around, I can get you to a doctor if something goes wrong—the kind of doctor that wouldn't tell the Wards."

I blinked. "This is your _house?"_

Tattletale made a so-so gesture with her hand. "My living situation's a bit weird at the moment," she said jovially. "I've been in costume a lot—it's almost starting to feel like work. Sometimes I crash there in my civilian identity, but lately I've just been using it to store clothes." She stretched out a hand, offering me the address.

That sounded about as trustworthy as a live rattlesnake. "Why are you doing this?" I demanded, making no motion to take the napkin from her.

"I owe you, remember?" she replied, grinning.

"Why? I... I killed your boss, didn't I?" For an instant, I hoped she hadn't noticed the way my voice shook—then I remembered who I was talking to.

Tattletale didn't mention it, at least. Instead she sighed, glanced around, and took a deep breath. "You know about Dinah and Noelle, right?"

I scowled. "Of course. I'm still not satisfied that you didn't know about Dinah."

"I did."

The admission stopped me in my tracks. I'd suspected, sure, but I hadn't thought she'd just tell me that easily. I bunched my left hand into a fist and hissed, "You _what?"_

Tattletale backed up half a step, putting both hands up in front of her as if to calm a wild animal. I didn't appreciate the comparison.

"You know what Coil was like," she said carefully, keeping her eyes locked on mine. "He was always looking for leverage over people. Sometimes he had to get creative, like stringing Noelle along. But, sometimes... all he really needed was a thug with a gun."

"What's your point?" I asked, frustrated.

"My _point_ is that when I met Coil, I wasn't with the Undersiders. He formed the whole team. So, when he found me wandering around without backup..." She trailed off significantly, and I nearly rocked back on my heels.

"You're saying..."

"It was either get paid working for him, or get shot."

I stood still for a moment, silently processing this.

"Do your teammates know?" I asked at last.

"They do now." Tattletales smirk returned full force. "Regent started cracking jokes. Two thinkers and a tinker walk into a bar... that sort of thing."

I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about that, but there were more important things to ask her. "Why did you tell him about me, then?" I asked. It wasn't particularly an accusation, more simple curiosity—she'd apologized for it, for one thing, and it didn't make any sense for her to strengthen an enemy if she could help it. Then again, maybe it was supposed to make me into an ally?

Tattletale didn't respond for a moment, though the thoughtful frown on her face probably meant she was thinking of how to phrase her response. I didn't like that much—the longer she thought about it, the less likely it was that I'd be able to pick out a lie.

"I didn't think he'd go after you like that," she admitted eventually. "I fucked up. He'd already been planning to take Dinah, but I didn't know that."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

She blinked, apparently surprised. "Didn't he have you working on something for Dinah?"

I almost said no on reflex. Coil had never mentioned Dinah, I hadn't even known she existed until Leviathan showed up. Of course I hadn't built anything for her.

But I had.

My mouth must have been hanging open, because Tattletale was giving me a concerned look. "The painkiller!" I blurted. She raised an eyebrow, apparently amused.

"I mean," I said, flushing, "he had me build something to prevent headaches, but I always assumed it was for him."

Tattletale nodded. "He thought taking away the migraines would mean Dinah could use her power all the time, but it doesn't work that way." She shot me an apologetic look. "I figured that out the hard way. He... well, he gave it to me when he found out it wouldn't work on Dinah. I'd like to say I took the moral high ground, refused to use it or whatever, but..."

"It should still go to her."

Startled, Tattletale's hand shot up to the back of her neck. "Oh."

I rolled my eyes. "Even if it doesn't let you use your power all the time, it _does_ help with the pain, right?"

"Aside from the little hole in my neck, yeah." Tattletale laughed, but there was an uneasy undercurrent to it.

"You want to keep it," I guessed.

She slumped a little where she stood. "Yes."

"That one goes to Dinah," I said firmly. I almost offered to build her another one—but she _was_ a villain, sympathetic or not. My power had already been used that way before, and I didn't want it to happen again.

Fortunately, Tattletale didn't take it too badly. "I'll manage," she told me. "I have up until now."

There was an awkward silence after that, broken only when Tattletale cleared her throat and held out what looked like...

"Is that a lunchbox?"

Her teeth flashed white as she smiled. "Yeah, but the important thing is what's inside." I took it a bit hesitantly, after putting down the bag of tech. Shifting my stance so that I could balance the box on my hip, I flicked open the locks and peered under the lid.

It was hard to see, but it _looked_ like a lot of paper. A lot of small, rectangular pieces of paper. They appeared to be green.

I must have been gaping, because Tattletale started laughing. "That's a thank-you," she explained. "For Lung, and for Coil. To the tune of about ten grand."

"This is incredible," I murmured, already thinking of how much wiring I could buy with it. Then, belatedly, I remembered dad's car—still smashed up, and going to rust in our driveway.

"I'd pay for one of those pain killers, by the way," Tattletale added. "I'm not saying you have to or anything, but if you're ever short on cash... well, I'm probably not the only one that'd give an arm and a leg."

"Thank you," I said, a bit belatedly. Shutting the case almost reverently, I went to drop it into the shopping bag. Then, I remembered that it was a bit messy in there, and decided to just hold it.

"Money is freedom," Tattletale remarked.

"I'd say not living in a bunker is freedom." She choked, then started giggling.

"Nice to see you have a sense of humor about it."

I shrugged. "It helps. Tinkering helps more."

Tattletale gave me an odd, measuring look. "I guess it would." Her gaze dropped down to my left arm, still swaddled in t-shirt. Then, it flicked to my right.

"What happened to your other hand?" she asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"I sprained it."

"I know _that._ I was asking what happened."

I rubbed at the back of my neck self-consciously. "We were fighting the Merchants, and one of them hurt my wrist."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's not the whole story."

"I punched him," I admitted. "With the same hand."

Chancing a glance at her face, I rushed to explain. "It was an accident!"

"Of course it was." She sounded more amused than anything else, but there was a more serious edge to her voice when she said, "Panacea didn't heal you?"

I shook my head, and Tattletale frowned.

"It's fine," I said. "It'll heal within the next few weeks. And... I get why she might not want anything to do with me."

"I don't think that's it."

"What do you mean?"

Tattletale sighed. "Noelle swallowed my teammate Grue."

I froze, startled, but she raised a hand and managed a strained smile. "He's not—one of Dragon's suits pulled him out. But, from what he told me afterward... being inside her screws with your head. Brings up bad memories, nightmare scenarios, that kind of thing."

"Oh." I could imagine the sort of thing _I_ would've remembered, and that was more than enough to make her point clear. It might explained why she was living with the Wards, too.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. Then, to my own surprise, I found myself telling her, "I'm glad he's okay." I meant it, too. I didn't _know_ him, but a part of me still felt like Noelle was my mess, my responsibility. Tattletale, who could probably read all of this in my expression, chose not to comment. Something about the odd set of her mouth seemed off to me, though.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "But one of our other teammates didn't make it out."

My previous comment seemed almost mocking, now that I could appreciate its irony. "I'm sorry," I muttered, feeling incredibly stupid even as I said it. That was exactly the kind of thing I'd been snapping at people for, recently.

Tattletale didn't seem annoyed, though. "I didn't really know him that well," she admitted. "His name was Orbit, he'd just joined... a little after our fight with Lung, actually." That hung in the air for a moment, before Tattletale shook herself and clapped her hands together.

"Anyways, you should probably head home soon. It's what, midnight?"

I fumbled in my pocket for a moment, remembered I didn't have my phone, and shrugged. "Probably." Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, I glanced between Tattletale and the mouth of the alley behind me—which was tantamount to a soliloquy, where her power was concerned.

"What's up?" she asked, eyeing me curiously.

"I'm still a Ward," I said.

Tattletale smirked. "Unless you want to tell me you've developed a taste for the dark side...?"

"That's not what I said," I snapped, then cringed. "Sorry. But I meant... if we're in costume, I'm still going to try and arrest you." That wasn't nearly as tactful as it had sounded in my head, but Tattletale nodded as if in agreement.

"I figured you'd say that." She tipped a wink, and said, "As long as you don't go after me out of costume, it's fine."

"Like now?" I asked.

"Well, this _is_ supposed to be a friendly conversation," she agreed, "but if you ever crash at the address I gave you, not fighting me while you're there would be cool too."

"I can handle that," I said, shrugging. I wasn't planning on taking her up on the offer anyway. There were other places I could go to use my tech, and the next time I'd make sure I had my armor with me, or at the very least the part that numbed pain. That way I could just use the bathtub or something without worrying about making too much noise.

"Great!" Tattletale's expression was almost sunny, now. "Nice chat, I look forward to trying to kill each other!"

"Arrest," I corrected her.

"It'll all be very friendly," she continued, waving a hand as if to brush aside whatever difference existed between _arrest_ and _kill._ I rolled my eyes.

"See you then," I called back, amused despite myself.

With a last mocking salute, she turned and walked back down the alley. I stared after her for a moment, thinking over everything she'd told me.

It was only when something dripped onto my shoe that I startled and looked around again. Thankfully, it turned out to be water from a nearby rooftop, rather than blood from the bag in my hand. Though, if I were being honest, the latter might have been cleaner. Leviathan had not done the city's sanitation any favors.

Shrugging to myself, I started walking back the way I'd come. I found myself absentmindedly opening and closing the fingers on my enhanced hand, marveling at how fluid the movements were. I'd have to test it, but I suspected I might become left handed with a day or two of practice—at least until I could upgrade my other arm, which I probably shouldn't until it healed.

That thought gave me a moment's pause. The Wards might notice if I suddenly went from knocking over glasses and dropping things to using my left hand as if it had been my dominant one all my life. I'd need to act clumsy, and that idea bothered me. Not so much because I was embarrassed, more because I had to treat my tech like some kind of dirty secret when it felt so natural to me.

I shook my head in frustration, and focused all my attention on walking. By the time I reached my street, the left-over cuts on my arm were throbbing, and I was starting to realize that hiding them was going to be a problem. They didn't seem to be bleeding much, though I was mostly basing this on the fact that I couldn't see any blood on my sweatshirt, but I'd need to make sure I wore long sleeves wherever I went for the foreseeable future. What would I do if it scarred?

I didn't have much time to consider the question, as I crept around the house towards the back door. Easing it open as quietly as I could, I made a beeline for the basement. Flicking on the light, I descended the rest of the steps with both the bag and the lunchbox still in my hand, then went to put them down on a box.

Then, I considered what was _in_ the bag, and realized that it smelled fairly strongly of blood. Cursing under my breath, I dumped the money behind a stack of cardboard boxes and went for the stairs again.

I'd just reached the bottom step when I heard something up above me that made me freeze in my tracks. A long, low creak—and then another. Footsteps, above me.

In a sudden panic, I dumped the incriminating bag with the lunchbox. A frantic glance at my left arm revealed that while my sweatshirt covered most of the cuts, there were a few on my hand that stood out an angry red against my skin. Shoving it into my pocket, I scrambled up the stairs as quietly as I could manage and shut the door behind me. Then, I stepped into the living room and stopped.

Dad was standing there, mouth open. His eyes were red-rimmed and alert, his mouth opening and closing without forming any words. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Hey, dad," I stammered. "Sorry if I woke you up, I couldn't sleep so I was going to get a snack..." The words died in my throat, as I took in the expression on his face.

"Taylor," he croaked. "Where the _hell_ were you?!"

* * *

 **Rest in peace, Orbit the plot scaffold. Your absence probably won't be noticed.**


	30. Glad We Talked

**So... happy February? Here's something that has absolutely nothing to do with Valentine's day.**

* * *

"Where the _hell_ were you?!" dad rasped, and for a moment I stood frozen as if his eyes were a pair of headlights. I bit down on my lip, stopping only when I realized that I'd broken the skin.

"I wasn't—" I began, desperate, but he cut me off.

"I woke up _two hours ago,_ Taylor," he said, scowling. "Please, don't lie to me."

My hand ached, and I began examining the floor, finding it suddenly impossible to meet his eyes.

"Sorry," I managed. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd take a walk."

"A _walk?!"_ he shouted, incredulous. I cringed back, wishing to be somewhere, _anywhere_ else. It had been half-true, at least, but that wasn't worth much if it was completely unbelievable.

"I didn't mean to be gone for that long," I tried.

"Taylor!" Dad was still yelling, and every word made me shrink a little further against the wall. He _never_ raised his voice like that to me, he didn't even like shouting where I might be able to hear. I could still remember how guilty he'd looked at the hospital, when he realized I'd heard him screaming at Principal Blackwell.

Shaken, I started edging away from him until my back met the wall. "I'm sorry!" I pleaded, as the solid plaster pressed against my shoulder blades.

"I woke up, and you weren't _there!_ Do you have any idea how that felt?" His whole body was shaking, and his head and neck had both gone a violent shade of red.

"I thought—" The words seemed to stick in his mouth, and I found myself hunching my shoulders. My left fist was jammed into my sweatshirt pocket, cuts stinging as they were pressed against the fabric.

"I... I..." I swallowed hard, took great gasping breaths, but my mouth just wouldn't work. Somehow, I'd ended up on the floor, curling around my enhanced arm. A distant, more clinical part of me noticed absently how absurd that was. It was the strongest part of me, now, and I was acting like it was some fragile thing that needed to be protected.

Then, something moved just above me. My head snapped up, and I rose into a half-crouch, ready to dive for the door. Dad froze, hand a foot away from my shoulder, and an anguished look on his face.

"I didn't mean—" he began, then stopped. I heard his weight shifting, and then he was kneeling next to me. "I'm sorry," he said, softly. His voice was shaking, but I didn't dare look at his face.

My breath hitched, and the words I'd been so desperate to find spilled out of me. "I had to get out," I stammered, half-pleading and half-rambling. "I just wanted to go out, I didn't mean for it to take so long..."

Strong arms wrapped themselves around me, and I tensed again. "It's okay," he whispered. When his mouth moved, his jaw scraped against the top of my head—I could feel the stubble.

"I shouldn't have yelled," he told me. "I... I promised myself I wouldn't do that."

"Nothing bad happened," I mumbled. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, I was just—" he sighed. "You scared me."

"I didn't mean to." It sounded churlish even to my own ears, and I felt dad tense.

"You _know_ how dangerous that was," he said. "We don't live in the best neighborhood, and it's gotten so much worse since Leviathan... what were you _thinking?"_

"I had pepper spray," I explained—badly.

Dad straightened up. I could hear him breathing in and out, rhythmically. He must have been trying to stay calm, but eventually gave up.

"That's not _enough!"_ he hissed, this time at a more normal volume. "What did you think you were doing out there?!"

Looking away, I grit my teeth and curled my shoulders around myself. Even if I fully understood why I'd decided to meet Tattletale, which I didn't, there was no way I could explain it to him. What was I supposed to tell him, that I'd been perfectly safe because there had been a wanted criminal there to protect me?

"I don't know what you want me to say," I admitted, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

"You don't have to say anything." Dad's voice was husky, barely reaching above a whisper. He plopped down beside me and laid a hand on my shoulder. I forced myself not to pull away, to try and relax into the touch. As he took a breath, I could see his chest rise and fall, and hear the air come whooshing out.

"I know it's been hard," he said. "But it's hard for me, too."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do." I looked up, startled.

"You really scared me tonight, Taylor. I thought... you were just _gone._ But... even before now, you've been acting different. When you're home, you're always up in your room, or if you're not you barely talk to me."

"I was like that before," I said, bitterly. "You just didn't notice."

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. Dad recoiled as if I'd hit him, and for a moment I considered running away. Not from home, I wouldn't do that—just from this conversation. Instead, I curled up and buried my face between my knees and wished I were still in that alleyway, watching my fingers move.

"I didn't mean that," I mumbled.

"No... you're right. Things haven't been okay for a while." That was true, and I had a power to prove it, but I didn't want to blame him.

"Can I go to bed?" I asked, feeling like a coward. He nodded, and I stood up to go. My shoes hit the ground once, twice, and then...

"Taylor!" Dad called out, with a sharpness to his voice I hadn't heard since I was a little kid. Feeling oddly guilty for some reason I couldn't place, I spun back around.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong with your hand?" I froze.

"I sprained it," I told him. Some part of me knew I'd only make things worse by lying like that, but I couldn't help it—I wanted to go, _now,_ without another argument.

Dad was unconvinced. "Taylor," he said, reaching out to touch my elbow. "Let me see."

I shrugged him off, and then, reluctantly, took my hand out of my pocket. His breath hissed between his teeth, and in an instant he was at my side, fussing over the cuts.

"I thought you said that nothing happened!" he hissed. "Who did this to you?!"

"I'm _fine,"_ I insisted.

"You're _bleeding,"_ he shot back. Reaching out, he gently rolled my sleeve back up over my arm. When he saw the t-shirt, I heard his breath hitch.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I mumbled.

"Don't!" he snapped. "Don't play this off like it's nothing. What _happened,_ who hurt you?"

"No one!" I burst out. "It's just... I was using my tech."

As soon as I said it, I was already bracing for impact. He wouldn't like it, I knew that much, but he'd like the idea of some villain or gang member cutting up my arm even less.

As it was, his reaction was strangely... delayed. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, turned around and walked a few steps towards the kitchen. Then he stopped, let out a breath.

"You did that." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," I admitted.

Dad sat down on the floor, hard, and put his head in his hands. "Taylor," he said, voice cracking, "I... did you _want_ to hurt yourself?"

"No!" I blurted. "It was just... it's part of my power."

He looked up at me blankly, not comprehending.

"I made the armor to go outside my body," I explained. "But that's not really what my power is _for._ It's for putting stuff inside, to make me stronger. I wasn't unarmed when I went out." Well, not the _whole_ time, anyway. I'd save that conversation for later—preferably never. If _Tattletale_ had been worried about me, I didn't want to know what dad would do.

As it was, he seemed to be reeling. "You put tinkertech... in your arm," he said. His hand knotted into the fabric of his pants, then balled into a fist.

I nodded. "I know it's dangerous—"

"Dangerous?" he stood up, then grabbed me gently by the shoulders. "The PRT _approved_ that?"

Flushing, I shook my head. He didn't say anything, just stood there staring down at me. I shifted nervously, wishing I could shove my hand back into my pocket—it felt oddly exposed.

"Are you... angry?" I asked. It was a stupid question—of _course_ he was—but I needed him to say it. To tell me off, to shout, even to storm off. It was unnerving, how he was just standing there.

"Do you even care how dangerous that was?"

I bit my lip. "They told me I couldn't use my own tech until I turned eighteen."

"Taylor." Dad crouched down, and stared me in the eye. "That's not what I asked."

"It's _my tech,"_ I insisted. "Of course I'm not afraid of it."

"It's invasive surgery," he countered.

"I know!" My left hand clenched into a fist, but it didn't shake as I squeezed—it stayed perfectly steady. I picked it up, and stared at the lattice of cuts across my knuckles.

"It's my tech," I repeated, flexing each finger one by one. "I can't just _not_ use it."

"You have the armor," dad told me gently. "There's no need to push, Taylor. You're safe now."

"That's not—" I gritted my teeth. "That's not why I installed it."

"Then... why? I just want to understand."

I stared at my hand as I bent just the top joint of each finger—I'd never been that flexible before, but now I could do it easily. My ring finger could move independently, too, without forcing my middle to move with it.

"I can't just ignore it," I said, letting the hand curl up and fall into my lap. "It's a part of me."

"No one wants you to ignore it," dad told me.

"Yes, they do!" I burst out. "Building armor is _not_ what my power is for. It practically shuts down whenever I try to use it to design something like that. All that armor is based on a design for these—" I held up my hand, flexing it as far as it would go. The cuts stood out an angry red as they were stretched. "I just made it bigger, and started wearing it over my skin. I only did it because I was too squeamish at first, but now that I'm _ready_ to move on from that, no one will fucking _let me."_

I was breathing hard, but I wasn't done. "You, the PRT, _Coil,_ everyone wants me to stick to the armor and cripple myself." Dad flinched at the mention of Coil, but he didn't say anything.

"I can't limit my power like that. It's frustrating, sometimes, when it just won't cooperate," I said, thinking back to the months I'd spent trying to cajole it into building something like power armor. "But, using it... I feel better."

Chancing a glance at dad, I struggled to read his expression. I didn't think it was anger, but then... I didn't really think it was anything. For a moment, we both just sat there. Then, at last, he spoke.

"You're grounded," he said shakily. "No more going _anywhere,_ unless you tell me where you're going, and when you'll be back. And you _stick_ to that, do you understand?" I nodded, feeling numb.

"Good." He huffed out a breath. "Tomorrow, we can go to the PRT, and see if we can get them to let you use your designs—so long as there's a healer or a doctor, or _someone_ there with you."

It took me a moment to comprehend what he'd just said.

"You mean...?"

Dad sighed and rubbed at his temple. "I don't like it," he admitted. "It's dangerous, and I want you to be safe. But, if you need this..." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't want to make things harder for you."

I stared at him for a moment. Then, without really deciding to, I launched myself at him and wrapped my arms around his neck. He rocked back, startled, but when he recovered he rested his hands on my back.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"You're welcome," he replied—probably on automatic.

I laughed and pulled away, realizing with a start that his shirt was damp. He didn't seem to mind—he just clapped his hands together and sighed.

"I'm going to call in sick," he decided.

"What?"

Dad smiled weakly. "It's almost three, kiddo. I'm not getting up in time for work tomorrow."

My eyes widened. "I'm sorry—"

"No, no, it's alright." He patted me on the shoulder. "I'm glad we talked."

"Me too." I glanced towards the door to his room. "Are you going to bed?" I asked, suddenly very reluctant to go back upstairs.

He stood up, stretching, then shook his head. "I'm pretty wired. How about we make some toast?"

"That sounds good," I said. It was surprising how hungry I was, now that he mentioned it. Maybe the cybernetics were using energy, like my armor—I probably should have considered that before.

It didn't take long to make—after all, that was the whole point of toast. We took our modest breakfast into the living room, and curled up on the worn old couches to eat.

The cushion I was sitting on shifted and compressed as dad eased himself down next to me. "How are you feeling?" he asked, balancing his plate on his lap.

I shrugged. There was a true answer to that question, I was sure—but I didn't know what it was, and I suspected it would probably ruin the mood. Instead, I did my best to subtly dry my eyes on my sleeves. They were already streaked with traces of blood and filthy water, and I made a mental note to throw out that sweatshirt.

"How's work?" I found myself saying.

Dad seemed almost as grateful for the new topic as I was. He didn't answer right away, but once he'd chewed and swallowed he said, "Better, actually. There's a lot of work to be done cleaning up the city, so we've been pitching in."

"I actually ended up doing some hauling on patrol," I told him. "Yesterday, at some old apartment complex."

"They're having the Wards help with the cleanup?" I shook my head.

"We were just—uh, passing by, and they mentioned that they needed to get some lumber up a few flights of stairs. It's pretty easy for me to cart stuff around in my armor, so..." I trailed off with a shrug.

"That's good. I'd bet that helped more than the patrol did."

I rubbed at the back of my neck, chuckling awkwardly. "Actually..."

Dad just groaned. "Something happened, didn't it?"

"We ran into the Merchants."

He shot upright, nearly knocking his plate to the floor. "You _what?"_

I winced. "It happens, dad. I was with Clockblocker, we were fine."

"Are you hurt at all?"

"No, I—" Then, halfway through the denial, I remembered that I actually was. Dad, who had noticed the aborted response, was hovering at my elbow and looking me over, as if to try and detect the injury.

"It's not a big deal, I just sprained my wrist."

He gaped at me. "That's not _nothing,_ Taylor. You had your armor on, how could that even happen?!"

"Well, one of them hurt my hand a little, and I... uh... punched him with it. It was kind of my own fault."

Dad rubbed at his face with one hand, looking at me through the gap between his fingers. "I hate feeling like this."

"What?"

"Useless." He spat the word out like it was a curse, and I found myself staring at him.

"You're not useless," I insisted. He didn't look convinced—I knew I wouldn't have been. It wasn't really a thought out response, just my instinctive reaction to hearing him insult himself.

Dad didn't respond, he just put his head in his hands and scrubbed them through his hair. I found myself hovering, nearly suffocated by the sudden lull in conversation. A hundred different responses flashed through my mind, only to be discarded.

Finally, I couldn't take the silence anymore. "I chose to fight the Merchants," I said. "I chose to use the cybernetics, too. It's just... what feels right to me, I guess."

"I wish it weren't." He sat up, glancing over at me and wringing his hands. "Don't get me wrong, I love that you want to make a difference. I just... it scares me."

"It's not all about making a difference," I admitted. "Some of it's for me, too. I feel... better, I guess, when I have something to do."

"You couldn't have picked knitting?"

I barked out a laugh, and shook my head mutely. "Afraid not."

Leaning back, Dad put his plate to the side and stared up at the ceiling. "You remind me of your mother," he said, very quietly. Startled, I turned to give him a curious look.

He hummed affectionately, staring off into space and smiling sadly. "She always hated the idea of sitting around when there was something she could do to help." A tired smile teased at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I'm the same way." I didn't really know what to say to that, so I filled my mouth with toast.

Then, dad turned to face me directly. I looked up, curious, and he put a hand on my shoulder. His expression was hard to read.

"I'm not going to stop you from using what you build," he said, "and I won't stop you from going out with the Wards." I nodded, slowly, but he put up a finger.

"But you need to promise me to be _careful."_

"I will."

His forehead crinkled into a frown. "Don't just say it," he told me, a bit sternly. "I... I can't lose you, okay? Last month was... I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

Suddenly, I found it very hard to meet his eyes. My gaze skated off his face, settling somewhere past the back wall of the living room.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't do anything wrong," dad said firmly. "That villain did."

The corners of my mouth twitched upward for an instant—the phrase 'that villain' in the context of a kidnapping was a little funny, even if I didn't feel much like laughing. Then the full meaning of the sentence reached my brain, and I winced.

"I fought the Wards."

There was a sudden warmth at my side, as dad leaned in to wrap an arm around my shoulders. "I know. I read it in the news.

"It's okay, Taylor. I know you didn't have a choice, and I'm sure the Wards do, too."

"I _did_ have a choice," I insisted, waving a hand in frustration. "I _could_ have said no."

"Please, don't blame yourself for—"

"I don't!" I huffed out a breath of air, frustration boiling over and making my unenhanced hand shake. "I blame Coil."

It wasn't my fault, but I _did_ have a choice, one I don't regret making. I'm glad I'm alive, that he didn't..." I bit my cheek, arresting myself mid-sentence.

"Didn't... didn't what?" dad demanded, going rigid where he sat.

"Coil... he knew where you lived," I admitted. "He..."

Dad leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "He threatened to hurt me?"

I barked out a humorless laugh. "He hinted that he would. They never said anything outright, it always drove me nuts."

"They?"

Biting my lip, I nodded. "Coil hired Harrison. He ended up going out as Sentry."

Dad's eyes widened. "I'd thought that was Coil... but, why hire someone?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Too busy plotting to deal with me, I guess."

Beside me, dad seemed to be struggling to say something—or to keep himself from saying something. He turned, met my eyes, then looked down at the ground again. "You don't normally talk about this," he observed.

I hunched over, glancing at the stitching in my jeans. "Yeah."

"I want you to know, you can talk to me. Whatever happens, I'll always love you."

Shifting uncomfortably, I nodded. My hair fell in a curtain over my eyes, and I noticed its length for the first time in a while. It was still short and jagged, barely reaching my shoulders. I let out a small puff of air, stirring the hair in front of my face, and glanced at dad.

"You want to know more?" It wasn't much of a question. He kept _almost_ asking, subtly hinting at the idea that I should talk about it.

"I—only if you're comfortable."

I leaned back, trying to think of something to say about the month in Coil's base that I actually wanted to share.

"I met Faultline," I ended up saying.

Dad blinked. Apparently that hadn't been what he was expecting me to say—and if I were honest, it wasn't what I would have predicted, either.

"She's a villain, right?" he asked.

"A mercenary," I corrected. "Her team has a no killing policy, too."

"Was she... nice?"

"Actually, yeah. Or, her teammate was—Gregor the Snail."

Dad chuckled. "That's an interesting cape name."

I shrugged. "I'm not sure he got to pick it."

He cocked his head to the side, as if trying to work out why I had decided to talk to him about _this,_ of all things. "Is there a reason you brought it up?" he asked, looking a bit concerned.

I frowned. Honestly, it had been one of the high points of the month, as depressing as that was. A lot of my more recent memories were like that—shitty situations, made a little bit better by someone I normally wouldn't have wanted to get within fifteen feet of. Gregor, Tattletale, even Regent.

I sighed and ruffled a hand through my hair. "I guess talking to other people was nice, even if some of them were jerks."

"I'm glad." Finishing off the last of my toast, I was about to stand up when dad spoke again.

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

I froze. There was certainly more to the story, and parts of it that I didn't _ever_ want to tell him. I'd killed two people, and unleashed a monster on par with Leviathan into my hometown. Dinah was part of that, too. I'd saved her, or at least helped her save us both, but I didn't want to talk about her, either. The last thing I wanted was to make dad wonder about what might've happened if Coil had chosen to drug me.

"No," I decided, eventually. "Not yet."

Dad nodded, and patted me on the shoulder. "I'll wash up, you just get to bed. I know you've been having trouble sleeping..."

The way he said it made it sound like I was plagued by nightmares or something. Reality was a bit less dramatic—I'd had a couple of unpleasant dreams, but I was mostly just jet-lagged after spending a month underground. That, and I was a tinker. Only a few weeks after meeting Chris, I could already tell that strange sleep cycles was par for the course with my power.

Still, I smiled at him. It was thoughtful, and I was pretty wiped out.

"Thanks, dad."

This time, I made a conscious effort not to stiffen up when he hugged me. It was warm and soft, even if his elbow was digging into my side a little. "I love you," he told me.

"Love you too."

He pulled away, then grabbed our dishes off the floor. "I'll probably head to bed in a few minutes, too, but I'll be here when you get up tomorrow."

"Okay."

Then, he disappeared into the kitchen. I could hear running water, and the sound of plates clinking together. My eyes were burning with exhaustion, but I hovered for a moment in the doorway, oddly reluctant to leave. I felt closer to him now than I had in a long time, and it seemed like if I went to sleep now, it would evaporate like some kind of mirage.

So, I stood in the middle of the living room, listening to him wash the dishes. It was oddly soothing, the ceramic clinking noises and the splashing of water. The whole thing didn't take long—we had no running water, so he had to use bottles and save as much as he could. When it sounded as though he was about to leave the kitchen, I slipped away and headed upstairs.

My room wasn't quite the way I'd left it—there were papers that had obviously been moved, my closet door was ajar, and I could see an imprint on my bedspread. Dad must have looked around, when he realized I wasn't here.

I sat down heavily, but I felt more drained than anything else. It was hard to be angry with him, when I'd basically run away for a night.

"Stupid," I muttered, rubbing at my forehead. The cuts on my left hand stood out an angry red, as if to remind me of the machine working just beneath my skin. I flexed, imagining the metal muscles contracting. Even now, as exhausted as I was, the arm moved effortlessly.

"Dumb, reckless, _idiotic..."_ I flopped down on my back, and lifted the hand in front of my face, studying its every ridge and wrinkle.

If I could undo it... I wouldn't.


	31. I Don't Need Permission

**I'm seriously starting to consider filling all of these with awful puns.**

* * *

By the following morning, the cuts on my arm had all scabbed over.

Dad still made me wash them, of course—I'd showered the night before, but he was worried about infection. I couldn't really argue with that, considering how unsanitary the alley I'd installed the cybernetics in had been, so I went along without complaint.

In fact, I spent more time rinsing the cuts than the job really warranted. After that, it had taken an age to select and don a sweatshirt to cover most of the scratches. I knew I was delaying—I'd done something very similar before—but that didn't stop me from feeling anxious.

"What if they see?" I fretted, flexing my hand. I probably would have been picking at the scabs, if my wrist hadn't been sprained.

"You can wear gloves," Dad suggested.

"Not the whole meeting! That would only draw attention to them!" I had to use that hand, too. My right was useless (and felt doubly so by comparison), so I would be opening doors, holding things, _shaking hands_ —all with the hand that had been carved up by my tech. My tech, which the PRT definitely did not approve of, and probably still wouldn't even after the meeting.

"Do we have to do this?" I asked, shoving the incriminating fist into my pocket and wishing I could keep it there during the meeting. "They'll just say no."

Dad made a face. "And if they _do_ say no?"

I met his eyes, flushing a little but keeping my gaze steady. "I do it anyway," I confirmed. He sighed, rubbing at his temple.

"We have to try. For my peace of mind, if nothing else."

Nodding a bit grudgingly, I followed him out the door. Kurt was waiting for us outside—if it had been unsafe the last time we'd walked to the PRT, it had only gotten worse now that the Merchants had openly claimed half the territory we were about to walk through. So, we needed a vehicle, and he had been happy to help.

This was my first time seeing him since the first week I'd been back, and at the time I hadn't really been all there. I'd quit the dinner table as soon as I could, and spent the evening and into the early morning on some early sketches of the cybernetics.

He looked about the same as he had days ago—far more stubbly and haggard-looking than he had been before Coil, but still sun-browned and quick to smile.

"Climb in," Kurt told us, shoving the passenger's side door open for dad. He stole a glance at where I was sitting in the back, then buckled himself in.

"Thanks for the ride," dad said, as the truck peeled away from our house.

"Anything you need, remember?" Kurt replied, tipping his hat.

The ride passed in a nice mix of comfortable silence and friendly small-talk. Dad and Kurt had known each other for years, and their back-and-forth made a familiar and comforting background noise as I stared out the window at the ravaged streets.

It took a long while to get there. The roads were improving, due in large part to the Dockworkers' Union, but the work was far from finished and Kurt had to take a _lot_ of detours.

The long ride gave me time to think. That meant I had time to brood, to imagine half a hundred scenarios for the meeting, each of them more cartoonishly horrible than the last. By the time the PRT building could be seen through my window, I was torn between relief that the wait was finally ending, and dread at what might happen. I tried to rationalize my thoughts—the worst they would say was _no,_ and then I could go ahead and ignore them in favor of working in secret. Dad seemed to understand, and that was the important part.

 _But what if they change his mind?_

It was ridiculous, and I knew that, but I still sweated through our goodbyes with Kurt, and fidgeted as dad talked his way past the secretary. He'd called ahead, and been told in no uncertain terms that neither the director nor Miss Militia would be available before this Friday. Annoyed, he'd asked for a meeting with Dr. Drummond instead, and had finally been approved.

There was a knot in my stomach as we climbed the stairs. As stupid and impossible as some of the nightmare scenarios that my mind kept playing for me were, there was one fear that I couldn't dismiss so easily. I glanced down at my left hand, stuffed securely in my jacket pocket.

 _What if they see?_

I had an excuse, of course, but Drummond would be suspicious anyway, wouldn't he? Just yesterday, he'd looked over the schematics for the cybernetics. What if he saw some pattern in the cuts, or just noticed how coincidental it was that I'd managed to injure the exact same hand I had planned on cutting open?

Then, the door was opening, and I ran out of time to wonder. Drummond stood on the other side, a thermos of coffee in one hand.

"Hello, Mr. Hebert," he said, shaking my father's hand. For a moment, I worried he would try to do the same to me— _Should I just give him my right and try not to wince?_ —but instead he seated himself behind his desk, gesturing for the two of us to pull up chairs as well. After dad returned the greeting, and I did my best to smile and nod, Drummond got right down to business.

"What's this about?" he asked. It might've sounded like an accusation, but his polite smile helped blunt the statement.

"Taylor told me about her cybernetics," dad replied, abandoning all pretense. "You blocked her from using them."

Drummond nodded, looking unsurprised. "I did, yes."

"Is this about parental approval? You didn't consult me at all."

"Ah." Drummond seemed to slump in his seat. "No, I did not." He sat up, took a sip of his coffee, and laced his fingers together. "It's not a question of approval. The design... it _might_ work."

Dad opened his mouth to say something, but the doctor held up a hand. _"But,"_ he continued, a bit pointedly, "It would be impossible to test. The device is coded specifically to your daughter, it would certainly fail if used on another person. It's dangerous, and we have no way of verifying if there are any safety issues. I stand by what I said yesterday."

"With all due respect," dad said, "I highly doubt this is the first time a tinker's work has been difficult to test. You're stonewalling her—why?"

Drummond sighed. "I believe I was too blunt, when I spoke to your daughter yesterday." He turned to address me directly. "I apologize, I was concerned. It's my responsibility to keep you from hurting yourself, and in my professional opinion, this technology is not worth the risk."

"Not worth the risk?" I repeated, balling my left hand into a fist. I could've punched him across the room—that alone was more than worth it.

"Your cybernetics and your armor are very similar, as far as I can tell," he said. "One is dangerous enough, considering how close the interface must be to severing your spinal cord. I spent nearly a week trying to figure out how to phrase that in a way that wouldn't bring the rest of my department down on it like the hammer of god. The cybernetics would allow you to use that strength and durability wherever you are—but even if they work without a hitch you'll bruise easily, your body will be unable to heal itself as effectively, and you run the risk of exposing your civilian identity whenever you go through a metal detector."

"That's not—" I hissed, frustrated, but couldn't quite think of a rejoinder in time.

"Keeping her protected out of costume isn't nothing," my dad insisted. I shot him a grateful look.

"No, but you have to understand that being attacked outside of patrols is vanishingly..." Drummond trailed off, then turned to look at me. "Ah."

"Exactly!" dad snapped. "If it means letting her defend herself, and feeling _safe_ walking around outside—"

"That's not what this is about!" I burst out, leaping to my feet and nearly knocking over my chair in the process.

For a moment, Drummond and dad both stared at me. I looked down at the desk, face growing hot, and slowly sat back down. But, as embarrassing as the outburst was, milking my own kidnapping for special permission made my skin crawl.

"I feel fine," I gritted out. "But I can't just limit myself to the armor. It's not what my power _does."_

Drummond frowned, obviously confused. "I don't follow."

I ran a hand through my hair before I could stop myself—my left hand, though I hoped it had been quick enough that he didn't notice the cuts. "I can make the armor, but it's not... it's like trying to work _against_ my power, not with it. Every time it gives me an idea, I have to twist it, size it all wrong, and staple on a bunch of metal plates that weren't supposed to _be_ there in the first place!"

"Taylor has my support," dad added. "If it's a liability issue—"

"It isn't," Drummond said, cutting him off. "My _job_ is to make sure your daughter—and any other Tinkers on this team—don't go too far and hurt themselves." He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "When you reach eighteen, you may bypass my office entirely. In the meantime... we're in a crisis. We can't afford to experiment right now, but I will consider some small scale tests when things stabilize a bit more."

I opened my mouth, but stopped when I saw him scowl. "That is as far as I am willing to bend," he declared, standing up from his desk. Realizing that further debate was pointless, I got to my own feet and left the room.

Dad followed, and put a conciliatory hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Taylor. We can see if his superiors will listen, if you like."

I shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I don't need permission."

"I stand by what I said last night," dad told me. "I won't stop you—as long as you're with a healer or a doctor, someone who could help if something goes wrong."

"Right," I muttered. Panacea would be a bust, no doubt, and I didn't think there were any other healers in the Bay. Well, besides Othala, but hell would have to freeze over before I went to the _Empire_ for help. If worst came to worst, I'd just hide in the basement.

"Do you want to do anything else today?" dad asked. I smiled—he was probably trying to change the subject, but I appreciated it all the same.

"I don't know where we'd go," I admitted.

Dad looked like he was about to reply, but was interrupted when someone called out, "Taylor!"

I started, then looked around to see Chris jogging towards me. "Something's going on downtown, Miss Militia needs us to get dressed and go!"

"What happened?"

"Not sure, she said she'd explain in the van."

I shot a pleading look at dad. His hand was still on my shoulder, but he stepped back and nodded. "Be safe, okay?"

Nodding, I turned and rushed after Chris. "I need my armor."

"Yeah, me too."

We spread out, with Chris ducking into his lab while I continued on down the hallway. He finished before I did, since I had to connect my armor, and putting on gloves with a sprained wrist turned out to be more difficult than I'd expected. Once I was suited up, I broke into a full sprint to catch up to Kid Win.

"Let's go!" Weld called out, from the other end of the hallway.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"The Undersiders are claiming territory near the lake," he explained.

"What?!"

Our feet skidded against the floor as we turned a corner, and I very nearly slammed into the wall. I had been talking to one of them just last night, and a deeply irrational part of me was suddenly terrified that it was somehow written all over my face.

"Miss Militia knows more," Weld continued. "Focus on getting there." I took his advice, even though talking didn't really affect my ability to run.

Weld bulled through the double doors at the end of the hall, letting Kid Win and I slip through after him. The van was just outside, and the three of us all piled into the back. Vista and Clockblocker were already in the back, though they slid down as far as they could to give us room. It was cramped, which turned out to be much more of a problem when one person can't touch two of the others without sticking to their costumes, but we managed to settle ourselves in while the road started slipping away outside.

Miss Militia was in the car with us, though she was sitting in the drivers' seat rather than the back. Flechette had taken shotgun, and seemed to be the only Ward with room to move their elbows. As we moved, she craned her neck around and said, "We're heading to the lake."

Weld nodded. "I gave them the gist, but I'm not really clear on the details myself."

"The Undersiders are claiming territory," Miss Militia said. "It's not that surprising—that part of the city is too far out for us or New Wave to have a strong hold. The Merchants haven't finished moving in yet, but that doesn't mean they don't intend to. We're worried there might be a fight, the collateral damage would be too much for that area to handle." I nodded to show that I'd understood, before I realized she was looking at the road and not at us.

"What do we do when we get there, then?" I asked.

"We wait, and make sure things don't get out of hand. Whether that's the Undersiders crossing a line, or the Merchants making trouble."

"We're not going to keep them from taking it?" Clockblocker blurted, sounding incredulous.

"No." I glanced at the rearview mirror, and saw that Miss Militia's mouth was pressed into a thin line. "We're spread thin enough as it is. If the Undersiders don't take it, then the Merchants will." She looked about as thrilled by the idea as we were.

"When things have stabilized near the PRT building, we can start to expand. Until then..." she sighed. "We try to make sure there isn't a gang war on top of everything else."

Her explanation was met with sullen silence, as the five of us digested the situation. As much as it unsettled me, I _was_ relieved that we weren't going to fight the Undersiders. Not so much because of my talk with Tattletale, though it did feel a little strange to consider arresting her the next day—it was more that I wasn't looking forward to playing keep-away with those giant dogs. I was, unfortunately, one of only two brutes currently on the team, meaning I might end up having to distract one of them.

As we drove, I leaned against the wall near one of the windows and peered out into the ruined streets. So, when Flechette and Miss Militia jerked upright and stared out the windshield, I only had to wait a moment before I could make out what they were looking at.

There was a dark cloud hanging over part of downtown, quite literally. Grue must have been responsible, but even knowing that a real, flesh-and-blood person was making it... it was more than a little intimidating.

Miss Militia drove to the end of the street before parking the van and urging us all to get out. "We'll have to walk from here," she said. "The roads are a wreck."

We weren't exactly stealthy. Weld's every footstep rang like a bell, and in my armor I wasn't much better. Kid Win made his fair share of noise, too, and to top it all off Miss Militia was carrying something that looked more like a cannon than a gun.

"Don't attack first," she told us as we walked. "But if something goes wrong, do your best to protect any civilians in the area. Assault and Battery are already here, and they and I will step in first if the situation turns sour.

"With that said..." she sighed. "Triumph had a late patrol last night, so we're outnumbered. You may need to engage the Undersiders, but wait for my orders. With any luck, New Wave will be able to back us up."

The Wards made varying noises of assent. I frowned a bit at the reminder of how badly understaffed the Protectorate was. Apparently they were hunting for new transfers, but none had shown up yet.

Near the edges of the black cloud, just around the corner from where I guessed the Undersiders were, we began to hear someone speaking nearby—it wasn't quite distinct enough to make out words, but it sounded a lot like Tattletale. The sounds sharpened as we approached, and I guessed that the Undersiders were addressing some kind of crowd. Miss Militia held up a hand.

"Wait here," she ordered. "Stay on the comms, I'll alert you if we need to step in."

"We're not getting closer?" Clockblocker asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"If they see an army, they will respond in kind," Miss Militia said curtly. "I'd rather not be the one to escalate." With that, she turned on her heel and continued marching towards the shadow on the ground. Her gun dissolved into green static, then morphed into a small hunting knife.

She wasn't even gone thirty seconds before Clockblocker crouched down to peek. I rolled my eyes, but let him go ahead—I certainly wouldn't be a better choice, since my armor was bright orange. Not my decision, either. I'd wanted a nice camoflaged grey, but PR had vetoed it.

"What's going on?" Vista hissed, hovering over his shoulder. I followed them just to the corner of the building, focusing my attention on what Tattletale was saying.

"...one per person. No need to shove, there's plenty to go around."

"One what?" Kid Win whispered.

"Crates," Clockblocker muttered back. "Supplies, I think."

"They're handing them out?" Weld asked, startled.

"You there!" That was Regent, if I were to guess. "We're not blind, you know." Clockblocker stiffened and ducked back behind the building, and the rest of us all tensed.

 _"One_ per person," declared another voice. The odd echo made me think it was probably Grue. "Or you can leave with nothing. Your choice."

Clockblocker poked his head out again, while Vista sagged against the aging brickwork next to her, visibly relieved. "Some guy just ran off," he explained. "Looks pretty scared—woah."

"What is it?" I hissed impatiently.

"One of those dog things. It's... I don't know. It just popped out from behind a wall."

On a sudden impulse, I peered out from over Clockblocker's head. I nearly flinched when I realized the sheer size of the crowd that had gathered to watch. They'd given the villains an almost comically wide berth, but were all flocking to a heap of mid-sized crates that had been piled up on the ground.

The Undersiders were all arrayed on a pile of rubble in front of the lake about fifty yards away, along with one of the monstrous dogs. Wisps of darkness were bleeding out from where Grue stood at the head of the group, floating upward to form the massive cloud above our heads. Tattletale was next to him, with her hands on her hips. Reagent and the dog girl—Bitch, if I remembered right—had fanned out on their leader's other side. The dog was pacing restlessly behind them, as if it couldn't quite understand why all those humans were here if it wasn't supposed to fight them.

Then, Tattletale's head turned. She was far off, and I could only barely make out her face... but I could swear she was looking right at me. I ducked back behind the building, breathing hard, and cursed.

"She might have seen us," I muttered, and the others all tensed.

"How do you know?" asked Clockblocker, backing away from the corner.

"I don't. But she's a thinker, and it seemed like she was looking right at me."

Kid Win took Clockblocker's place and snuck a peek. "They're not moving. Wouldn't they do something if they'd seen us?"

"Not necessarily," Weld mused. "Miss Militia didn't want to fight them if we could avoid it, and we'd probably win that fight. I doubt the Undersiders would risk it."

"Uh, guys?" Chris said, pointing down the street behind us. "I think New Wave is here." I snapped my head around, fast enough that I felt a sharp twinge in my neck, and took in what he was pointing at. Glory Girl was gliding down the street behind us, hair flowing around her face like a mane, and looking ready to break someone.

"Vicky!" Clockblocker said—just loudly enough for her to hear him. She stopped in front of us, glowering like we'd just thrown a brick at her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, and Weld made frantic hushing gestures.

"Miss Militia doesn't want us to fight them unless things get out of hand," he explained. "It'll just open up the area for the Merchants to swoop in."

"They're claiming this whole neighborhood," Glory Girl snarled, pointing emphatically in the Undersiders' general direction. "I'm not just going to ignore that."

"Where's the rest of New Wave?" Kid Win asked, glancing furtively around.

"At home," she spat. "Strategizing." Judging by the look on her face, that was a euphemism for something, though I couldn't tell what.

"It's good you're here," Weld said. "We could use your help if something happens."

"Like what?" Glory Girl growled. "The Protectorate actually decides to do their job?!"

"If the Merchants show up," I said curtly. "Or the Undersiders do something violent." The heroine laughed derisively and pointed up at the sky.

"I don't know about you, but _that_ looks pretty violent to me. I'm going in."

"Glory Girl, stand _down!"_ Weld insisted, wincing as his voice rose.

She started to stalk past us, and I acted on instinct. Grabbing her arm, I dug in my heels and pulled.

It turned out that I was strong enough to hang onto her, wearing my armor... but I was _not_ strong enough to keep her from moving. My steel-plated shoes shrieked as they dragged against the pavement, and within seconds I found myself dangling from her arm as she lifted into the air.

"Get off!" she snarled. I glanced around frantically, but we were still behind the building—this was still salvageable.

"Put me down," I told her. "There's going to be a fight if you just charge in like that, and there are civilians who could get hurt."

"If you think I'm just going to let those _bastards_ get away with—" Glory Girl started to say, but a loud _bang_ cut her off midsentence. She shook me off, before gliding over to peer around the corner. I landed on my feet, wincing even as my armor absorbed the impact.

Another burst of gunfire sounded from around the corner. The Wards and I all crowded to look, and caught sight of the Undersiders ducking behind the massive dog. Past them, rising out of the lake, was something that made me shudder with revulsion. It was clearly intended to be a boat, and I supposed it _was_ managing to float—but everything about it was an aesthetic nightmare of rusted metal and chaotic architecture.

It also, unfortunately, had a megaphone.

"Hey, shitstains!" a man's voice slurred out. "This is our turf!"

* * *

 **I'm honestly not super thrilled with this. I normally edit things by annotating the whole chapter wherever I see a problem, then going through and addressing them all at once. This time I tried fixing them one at a time... and was really not pleased with the results. So... not doing that again.**


	32. Be Careful

**Be Careful**

* * *

At first, I didn't really react. I was startled, sure, but I didn't fully register the attack, or whose voice that must have been coming from the ship, until Glory Girl took off like a shot. Weld called after her, but she was already soaring over the heads of the crowd and making a magnificent target of herself. Bullets must have been hitting her, but whatever problems she'd been having with her forcefield, it seemed to be working for the moment.

I bolted, too. That had sounded like the Merchants, and the gunfire was headed straight for the crowd. Weld made to grab me, then hesitated—obviously he didn't want to stick to me. Clockblocker had no such problem, and did his best to get a grip on my forearm.

"Wait!" he hissed, stumbling as he was dragged forward a step. "We don't know if your armor can take gunfire when Skidmark is amping it up."

It would've been easy to break his hold on me, but Clockblocker's warning had given me pause. "Amping them up how?"

"You know his power, right?" I nodded. "He can shoot through it."

The implications of that didn't take long to sink in, but I just shook my head. "They're firing into the crowd, and I have better chances than you guys."

"Stay behind me, then," Weld ordered.

We set off at a jog, his bulky form easily providing enough cover for me. His concern seemed a bit hollow once we started running, since there weren't actually any bullets heading in our direction. When I peeked around his shoulder, I found the likely reason—Grue had let his cloud of darkness descend over the small rise the Undersiders had been standing on, and all the gunfire was being aimed at where they _used_ to be. The few shots that went toward the mob of civilians were absorbed by the heap of supplies, and most of the civilians had been smart enough to duck behind them.

"Everyone, get down!" Weld shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. A group of men nearby, who were already hunkered behind crates, gave him a dirty look.

As we approached, I spotted Miss Militia as well, crouching in between a pair of boxes and peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. She wasn't firing—probably because she had far better odds of accidentally hitting one of the Undersiders than the Merchants who were shooting at us—but her very presence seemed to have a calming effect on the crowd. That, or they'd been living in this area so long that gunfire was almost normal.

"Glory Girl is here," she called down. "What about the rest of New Wave?"

"It's just her, I think," Weld replied. Miss Militia nodded, frowning distractedly.

"It's a stalemate, for now," she said, then looked around. "We need to get the civilians out of here."

"I could drag some crates behind me," I suggested. Miss Militia shook her head—I wasn't that surprised, I'd mostly just been spitballing.

"They could fall apart if they're hit," she pointed out.

"We need to go after the gunmen, then," Weld decided. Then he paused, looked around. "And by we, I think I mean me."

"I could—" I began, but was cut off by a withering look from both my superiors.

"You still haven't done a ballistics test on that helmet," Miss Militia said. "We know Weld won't be hurt by gunfire, he scouts out the Merchants— _without_ taking unnecessary risks."

"What should I do about the Undersiders?" asked Weld.

Miss Militia was silent for a moment, considering. "I doubt they'll prevent you from attacking the Merchants. See if you can get them to help evacuate, or at least to leave us alone while we take care of it."

"Got it." Weld ducked through the nearest gap in the crates and disappeared into the dark fog, waving an arm above his head as he went—presumably as a signal to Grue.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

Her eyes roved over the ruined city block around us, before settling on the building the Wards were taking cover behind. She scowled. "I don't like you going out there... but we need Vista's help shortening the distance."

"I'll tell her," I agreed almost instantly, eager to finally _do_ something.

"Be _careful,"_ Miss Militia called after me. "Keep the crates between you and the Merchants as long as you can."

I nodded, then dashed towards the street corner I'd come from. Following Miss Militia's orders made for a roundabout trip, especially since the ground was torn up in most places and I had to pick my way through pools of water and jagged holes in the pavement.

When I finally ducked back behind the cover of the large skyscraper where the Wards were waiting, it looked like they were almost ready to risk the gunfire. Vista pounced on me immediately, demanding to know what was going on.

"The Merchants attacked," I explained.

"We know," Clockblocker snapped. "What's _happening?"_

"Weld is going to try and figure out a way to stop the gunfire, and Miss Militia wants you—" I nodded to Vista, "—to shorten the distance between here and the crates, to help get the civilians out."

She frowned, risking a peek around the building. "There are a lot of people near the crates, but I can do the street in between." Fitting action to thought, she stretched an arm out around the corner. I instinctively moved to give her a bit more cover—my armor would probably stop a bullet at this range, even an enhanced one, and I didn't have nearly as much confidence in her costume.

Vista huffed quietly, and the street began to bend and warp even faster. Soon, the distance between us and the crowd had been bent and folded down to a fraction of its original length, and I took off running again.

Miss Militia nodded to me in greeting, before glancing at the much more manageable stretch of road that now separated the crates from better cover. We could still hear gunfire, but from what I could guess the Undersiders had moved somewhere else—I couldn't even see where the bullets were aimed, but the sound seemed to be coming from far off to my right.

"Alright," she muttered, before turning to address the crowd. "Follow us, and stay low!"

I trailed along at the back of the group, mostly because I was itching to find Weld and see what was actually going on with the Merchants. It made me reluctant to follow Vista's trail of twisted space, but the Wards' warning about augmented bullets tearing through my armor did give me _some_ pause.

As we walked, I noticed Assault and Battery had joined up with the main part of the group, and were now pacing next to Miss Militia. They drifted farther out to the sides of the crowd, effectively bracketing them between the four of us. Maybe it was supposed to reassure them, or maybe they were acting as a last-ditch defense against a hail of bullets if the Merchants turned our way again. Regardless, they helped shepherd the civilians around the corner and out of the influence of Vista's power.

Most of them were already running deeper into the city by the time Miss Militia called for them to follow Assault to what I would have to call _relative_ safety—they must have been living in this area a while. Now that they weren't in imminent danger, I felt comfortable mostly ignoring them in favor of checking on Vista. She was sagging a little where she stood, but seemed otherwise unscathed.

"Wards!" Miss Militia called out, gesturing at our little group. Battery stood next to her, glancing anxiously in the direction of the fight. "We're going to approach, but do _not_ for any reason get in front of me. Stay behind cover, and remember that even bulletproof defenses won't necessarily block gunfire once Skidmark has used his power."

I might've blushed, if I hadn't been too busy cursing the fact that I hadn't gotten my armor tested yet. Tomorrow, or this evening if we weren't still fighting, I would make sure to shoot everything short of cannonballs at my suit.

Together, the seven of us ducked out from behind the building. Vista obligingly shortened the distance again, and we made our way easily back to the heap of crates. From there, Miss Militia led us toward the rubble the Undersiders had been standing on.

I couldn't hear the sound of gunfire anymore, and as soon as I peeked out from behind the rubble, I saw why. Grue had surrounded a large swath of the lake, as well as some of the surrounding streets, with his darkness. Bullets would occasionally shoot out from within it, sending little puffs of black smoke trailing behind them as they slammed into nearby walls, but the actual sound of the guns going off was swallowed by the mist. It seemed like there was less shooting now, probably because even the Merchants had eventually realized that they had a limited supply of ammo.

Glancing up, I noticed Glory Girl floating over the shrouded streets and did my best to flag her down. She turned, noticed me, and dived towards us.

"Hey," she called out, when she was close enough.

"Glory Girl," Miss Militia said politely, inclining her head. "Do you have any idea what's happening in there?"

She just shrugged. "The Undersiders took cover behind something, I'm not sure what. They're pinned, but the Merchants are running low on ammunition. They can't keep this up much longer."

Miss Militia frowned. "If time is on our side, then—"

Suddenly, the darkness shifted. It roiled backwards in a slick black wave, revealing a swath of broken street beside the lake. The Merchants' boat remained covered, but the Undersiders could be seen taking cover behind the ruins of a large building that had half-fallen into the sinkhole.

For a moment, I wondered if they were trying to attack us—then, I noticed a massive shape barreling toward them. It nearly blended into the street, considering all the various trash and rubble scattered across it, but the hulking shape was clearly Mush.

He charged at them with a strange, loping gait, almost like a gorilla, knuckling forward and pushing off the ground with his legs. One of Bitch's dogs met him halfway down the street, the two massive bruisers slamming into one another with a loud, meaty sound.

"Cobalt," Miss Militia barked, casting a wary glance at the cloud of darkness. "See if you can find Weld. Vista, stretch the distance between us and that ship. Keep Grue close to it, in case his range is limited. The rest of you, stay close for now. I want you ready to go in as soon as they stop shooting."

I took off as quickly as I could, making my way toward the more intact buildings farther from the lake—it seemed unlikely that Weld would have managed to get on board the ship on his own, so I assumed he'd probably taken cover somewhere to try and keep track of the battle. I was soon proven right when Weld stepped out around a corner. His whole body gleamed a steely grey, but I could see spots of bronze poking out from new holes in his shirt. Otherwise, he seemed intact.

"Weld," I called out, and skidded to a stop beside him. He glanced at me, then retuned his attention to Mush and the dog's brawl. Another gigantic canine had joined the struggle, and it looked like his trash form was much more the worse for the wear.

"Please tell me Miss Militia knows you came out here," Weld said, and I flushed underneath my visor.

"Yes," I snapped.

"Right." He either didn't notice the irritation in my voice, or didn't care—probably the latter. "I don't know how much use we'll be."

I turned back to the dogs, and had to agree that I'd be more than a hindrance than a help, there—especially if they couldn't or wouldn't differentiate between me and the Merchants, and started chewing on my armor.

Then, there was a gunshot. It wouldn't have been noteworthy at all, except for the loud _bang_ that rang out clearly despite the cloud of darkness that _should_ have surrounded the Merchants. Weld and I both whirled toward the sound, and saw a group of armed thugs rushing towards the Undersiders from the other side.

Regent waved his arm almost dismissively, and the next few shots went wild as the gunner in front convulsed. Weld shouted, "Go!" but I was already moving before the word left his mouth. Skidmark wasn't here to augment their shots—that meant they probably couldn't touch me.

Tattletale actually had the nerve to wink at me as I passed the group of villains. I ignored her, focusing instead on the shooters.

"The one on the left is the leader," she supplied helpfully. I rolled my eyes, but obediently lunged at the gun-toting moron furthest to my left. He emptied his clip into my breastplate, barely making a dent before I elbowed him in the chest. Despite crumpling like a ragdoll, he managed to fire between my feet toward where the Undersiders were.

I glanced behind me, and was pleased to find that a third dog had lain down in front of them, acting as a solid wall of flesh and bone that was likely even more durable than I was.

Another shot pinged off my shoulder, and I reached out and pulled the gun out of the offender's hand. It was a different thug than before, but just as tenacious—he tried to hang on as I tugged, and ended up tumbling across the pavement as the weapon was torn from his grasp.

Weld caught up to me just as I moved to disarm the leader. He didn't try to grab the third man's gun, probably because he didn't want it stuck to his hand, and chose instead to pick him up by the arm and slam him into the asphalt. The thug groaned, tried to rise—and fell back to the floor as a solid metal foot pushed down on his back.

"Do you have zip-ties?" Weld asked. I nodded, and he grunted an approval. The three Merchants were trussed up within seconds, and my attention turned reluctantly back to the Undersiders.

Tattletale was grinning from ear to ear. "Hello there, Cobalt." She paused, then put on an exaggerated frown. "That name really doesn't work anymore, does it?"

I scowled, then glanced at where Mush had been fighting the two dogs. The heap of trash was entirely absent, and the man himself was pinned under one massive forepaw. There was, unfortunately, nothing for me to do except address Tattletale.

"I haven't had time to come up with anything better," I said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Weld wasn't even fifteen feet away from me, watching me talk with her.

"How about Aurora?" Grue supplied, turning for a moment from where he was watching the lake.

I blinked, taken aback. "That's actually not bad." Next to me, Tattletale's eyes went wide as she stared at something over Grue's shoulder.

"Get down!" she shouted, diving for cover behind the rubble. The command took a second to register, but as soon as it did I ducked and rolled into a ball, doing my best to protect my visor. There was a shatteringly loud, groaning _whine_ from above us, coming closer at what sounded like an alarming speed.

Risking a look, I realized with a sudden shock that there was an actual, honest to god _biplane_ coming in for a landing. And, judging by the chaotic nightmare that was its design, it wasn't friendly.

"Where's Glory Girl?!" Weld shouted. "We need a flier!"

"They don't have any artillery on board," Tattletale called back. "I think they're dropping someone off. Skidmark? No, he's more valuable near the guns..." she trailed off into indistinct muttering that I politely ignored, but the main message was clear—there was probably a cape incoming.

Well, I supposed Weld and I _were_ the brutes. I lurched back to my feet and edged my way towards where the plane was just touching down.

"Wait, Cobalt!" Weld hissed. He himself, along with the Undersiders, had taken cover behind the rubble, this time from a different angle. "Stay back until we know who it is."

I scowled, but did as I was told and hunkered behind a nearby slab of concrete that was sticking up almost perpendicular to the ground. There were only three cape leaders in the Merchants—Mush, who we'd already seen, Skidmark, who wouldn't be much use in a vehicle without any guns, and Squealer, who probably wouldn't be taking us on by herself anytime soon. That meant there were either all goons, which didn't seem likely, another encounter with the strange blaster I'd fought at that apartment complex, or someone else entirely—and that could mean powers I wasn't familiar with.

All of us braced ourselves as the door hissed open, poised for action. No one paid any attention to the sky above us, or remembered how much of a target that plane must have made of itself as it landed. That meant it was only when she was nearly on top of us that we heard Glory Girl.

She came in shouting defiantly, more like a human missile than anything else. The door hissed open, and a hooded figure stepped out. White smoke billowed from inside the black sweatshirt he was wearing—more than enough evidence for me to decide he was a cape.

For a moment, he didn't seem to notice Glory Girl at all. Then, she smashed into the plane. Metallic shrieks filled the air as she sheared off one of its wings with her bare hands, and before long the whole structure collapsed in on itself. The mystery cape turned, apparently honestly confused—and a sphere of blinding white light burst into being.

Panic rose up in the back of my throat, but the attack—whatever it was—had hit a good six feet to Glory Girl's left. Still, it made her turn to face him, wearing the kind of intimidating glower only people strong enough to bend lampposts into pretzels can really pull off.

Luckily for the strange cape, he wasn't alone. At least six thugs had lined up in front of him, and while they couldn't _stop_ Glory Girl, they did do an excellent job of getting in her way. She backhanded one of them, and he flew nearly ten feet into the side of the plane with a nasty _clang._

I gritted my teeth, making the split second decision that whatever those balls of light did, I could at least handle the goons while Glory Girl fought the cape. Vaulting over the chunk of pavement I'd hid behind, I sprinted toward the fray.

Halfway there, another ball of light burst into being with a sound almost like a small thunderclap. It was another miss—for Glory Girl. One of the Merchants wasn't so lucky, and went down screaming as he lost his arm up to the shoulder and a little beyond. I skidded to a halt, realizing very suddenly that my armor might as well be _tissue paper_ for all the good it would do. Then again, so would Victoria's force field.

Cursing sulfurously, I darted forward and screamed, "Glory Girl! Move!" She had to have seen the light, and what it did to the Merchant. Maybe she thought her power could protect her, maybe she was just planning her escape, but instead of taking off she flexed her aura.

I flinched mid-run, nearly tripping over a splinter of pavement as a familiar wave of fear washed over me. It was different to how it had been the first time I'd met her, more mixed with awe—but the cape in the hood _screamed._

Nearly a dozen white spheres popped in and out of existence one after another, and the noise alone drove me to my knees. One of them appeared less than a yard in front of me, blinding me through my visor. I fell forward, dazed and dazzled, as a rush of air seemed to pull me toward the dead space where the orb had been.

I recovered quickly. Most of that was necessity, and more than a little panic. The last time I'd been so viscerally terrified by a power was when I'd been leaping through windows to escape Noelle's tongues. It was easy to force myself to my feet, and soon I was upright and blinking the spots out of my eyes.

Glory Girl, on the other hand, didn't get up. She was crumpled on the ground, and my heart leapt up in my throat when I realized I couldn't tell if she was breathing. I called out for her to move, but could barely make out my own voice.

Distantly, I heard shouting and screaming—some of it was probably Victoria, and some of it might have been my name, but I couldn't be sure. I shook my head like a dog, trying to focus. The white-haired cape was still there, standing over Glory Girl. Another bright white sphere appeared above his head with a loud _crack_ that made me flinch.

"Get back!" I heard Weld yell at me. I gritted my teeth, ignored him entirely, and charged.

The Merchants, who probably hadn't been expecting to be caught by so much friendly fire, were in shambles. The one who'd lost his arm was still down, curled into a ball. Another lay where Glory Girl had smashed him into the plane, unmoving, and from what I could tell two more had died in the cape's sudden outburst. One of them saw me running towards them, threw down his gun, and sprinted off. The final thug made a token show of resistance, but crumpled to the ground when I shoved him aside and stayed there, cowering.

The upside of my rushing in like that was that the glowing cape turned all his attention on me, which hardly _guaranteed_ that he wouldn't hit Glory Girl, but it did seem to make it less likely. The downside was, well, he'd turned all his attention on me.

I realized almost instantly that there wasn't much I could do to dodge the attacks. The first one burst into being just inches to my left, and the force that tugged me towards it was strong enough that it carved a neat groove into my shoulder plate before it finally disappeared.

My heart was in my throat, and I realized in a panicked frenzy just how much I'd put myself at the mercy of random chance. I didn't have an instant to bemoan my lack of ranged options—I looked around, caught sight of a chunk of jagged pavement, and dove. A gauntleted hand clasped around it. I pivoted, and threw the rock as hard as I possibly could.

It turned out, I'd grabbed it with my left hand—and while normally using both my own arms and the ones on my armor wasn't worth the effort, that had been before I'd made an organic limb as strong as the suit. The end result was almost comparable to a small cannon.

I missed, just barely. _Barely_ being the key word, since it turned out you really didn't need to be that precise when throwing a bit of rubble the size of the average cantaloupe with an arm that could probably punch through a brick wall. It crash-landed half a foot to his right, shattered the road underneath him, and sent him smashing into the road face-first. He didn't make a sound—just went limp, bleeding quietly on the ground.

There was an instant of frozen silence, where all I could hear was my own ragged breathing. Then, with an unsteady, lurching gait, I stumbled over to where Glory Girl was. I nearly collapsed when I saw her chest rising and falling.

"Are you okay?" Weld asked from behind me. I yelped, startled, and fell to one knee.

"Yeah," I managed. There was a huge chunk missing from his right forearm, and I was actually a bit thrown by how little he seemed to care. He noticed me staring, and looked down in mild bewilderment.

"It'll be fine," he said. "We need to check on—" His voice was cut off by a strangled gasp.

I glanced over, alarmed, and realized with a sudden shock that there was a _lot_ of blood on the ground by Glory Girl. Forcing myself upright again, I jogged over and knelt next to her, wincing when I saw the wound in her calf. It wasn't deep, relatively speaking, but that wasn't much comfort.

"Cobalt," Weld said, voice sharp. "You're faster. Get Clockblocker here, _now._ I'll call it in."

I nodded dumbly, before my brain caught up to what he'd just told me to do and I started sprinting toward where I'd last seen the rest of the Wards. When I finally reached the edge of the lake, I realized with a shock that the darkness had disappeared entirely—but so had the gunfire. The ship, which had been at least a few hundred feet out into the water, was now sitting less than five feet above the surface of the lake, just next to the shoreline. I suspected that was Vista's doing, but the eerie stillness of the hulking monstrosity despite the small waves moving underneath it proved that Clockblocker was there, too.

"Miss Militia!" I called out, recognizing the Protectorate leader peering down the sights of a long rifle. She looked up and motioned for me to come over to where she was.

"Cobalt," she greeted. "Did you find—"

"We need Clockblocker," I blurted. "Glory Girl got hurt." Her brow furrowed in confusion for half a heartbeat, before her eyes widened.

"Clockblocker!" she shouted. "Get over here, now!"

"We need to keep it frozen!" he called back. "Just for a—"

 _"Now!"_

He leapt down over the ship's rails, landing with a splash in the shallows. By the time he reached us, I was already tempted to sling him over my shoulder and rush him back to Victoria myself. Miss Militia called out, "Go! We'll finish up here!"

Grabbing him by the wrist, I rushed back the direction I'd come. He yelped as I yanked at his arm, then shouted, "What's going on?"

I slowed a bit, very reluctantly, and replied, "There was a new cape. Glory Girl got hit."

"Then why am I—" he began, and then realization hit him. He ran a little faster.

We reached Weld and Glory Girl, slower than I would have preferred but faster than I'd thought Clockblocker was capable of moving. He skidded to a halt in front of them, panting, and grabbed her shoulder. She stopped breathing—and, more importantly, she stopped _bleeding._

"I called the PRT," Weld told us, holding his phone a bit gingerly so as to not touch any metal not covered by its rubber case. "But..." he hedged, grimacing.

"What?!" Clockblocker snarled, not taking his eyes off Victoria as he waited for her to unfreeze.

"Panacea won't help her," Weld explained, with an awful air of finality.

"But, it's her sister—" I started to say, then cut off.

"I know," Weld growled, looking angrier than I'd ever seen him. "But she says she isn't going to heal her, not unless there's no other way."

"There _is_ no other way!" Clockblocker snapped. "We need a healer, _now!"_

"Doctors," I blurted. "The PRT must have someone on call. There _were_ Wards before Panacea triggered, they have to have some way of handling things like this."

"They do," Weld replied. "An emergency response team is on their way, but it's going to take a couple of minutes."

"The Merchants?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder. Weld jerked his head toward the white-haired cape—I'd actually forgotten about him.

"He's out cold," he said. "Concussed pretty badly, from what I could tell. Not sure if he's going to make it without help."

"Right now," I gritted out, "I really don't care." It was true, though I was sure I wouldn't get a good night's sleep for the foreseeable future. For the moment, Victoria came first.

"The rest of the Wards should be able to take care of that ship," Clockblocker asserted. "But if we have to wait for the response team..."

We did. It didn't take long, not more than ten minutes. With the roads the way they were, the whole thing was nothing short of a minor miracle—or, if you wanted to be specific, a bit of foresight on the part of the response team. They'd decided that they would probably be needed in the aftermath of a cape fight and drove most of the way there while the battle was still going.

Clockblocker followed Victoria into the ambulance, freezing her in stops and starts as the paramedics worked around him. I hovered uselessly outside until they drove off, and then someone noticed me pacing and led me gently but firmly to a nearby bit of rubble to sit down. I obliged, mostly because I was so hungry that I was starting to get light-headed.

Another ambulance carted off the Merchant, whose name I learned was Scrub. He was probably going to live, as far as anyone could tell. That was good news, I supposed.

Weld sat heavily next to me as PRT agents swarmed around the battleground. They'd already arrested the Merchants that had been there, including all three of their core capes. The Undersiders, on the other hand, had mysteriously disappeared, probably around the time I'd taken out Scrub.

"How are you doing?" Weld asked, resting his elbows on his knees and giving me a concerned look. I was momentarily glad for the way metal stuck to him—if it didn't, I was fairly sure he'd be putting a well-meaning hand on my shoulder right about now.

Then again, that gave me an idea. I unclipped my shoulder plate, the one that had been half-destroyed by Scrub's power, and offered it to Weld. He stared at it a moment, confused.

"I need to replace it anyway," I said. "You mentioned you needed metal, to make up for the arm."

He blinked, then looked down at the stump as if he'd forgotten it was there. "Right. Well, I could grow it back without, but it'd be kind of uncomfortable."

"So, is this okay?" I asked. "I mean, you don't need a specific type?"

"No." He reached out hesitantly, and pressed the arm against the armor. They began to meld together almost immediately, and he quickly tucked it away next to him, out of sight.

"Thanks," he said, after a moment. "But you never really answered my question."

I glared at him. "No, I didn't."

"That bad, huh?"

"No. I'm just sick of people asking that." That, and I didn't really feel like talking at the moment. Maybe I was being broody, but I still somewhat resented being interrupted.

He sat in silence for a while—the awkward, suffocating kind. Then, "You're bleeding."

I frowned, glancing over my body. He pointed at my shoulder, and I noticed with mild annoyance that I'd been grazed by one of Scrub's attacks. It was more like a scrape than anything else, a bit of damaged skin that was already scabbing over. Probably the lightest injury I'd managed to walk away with in the past months, caused by one of the most dangerous powers I'd ever interacted with.

"That's a bit ironic," I mused. Actually ironic, in the sense that it was unexpected. It wasn't particularly funny, though. I chuckled quietly anyway.

Weld gave me an odd look, but didn't say anything.

This time, the silence felt almost companionable.

* * *

 **Alright, getting close to the end now. Sort of. There should be... one more post left in this arc, and then just one more arc until the end. Assuming everything goes to plan, which it very well might not, but... yeah. I am determined to actually _finish_ this thing rather than just leaving it hanging, especially now that I'm so close (relatively speaking).**

 **I also figured out a solution to the awkward formatting at the top, and am mildly embarrassed that I never thought of that before. I'm not going to go through and change past chapters just yet, though, because that would probably take a really long time and I have stuff to do today. And in general. Not _much,_ mind, but enough that I don't really want to spend an hour making whole new documents and updating every chapter.**


	33. Interlude: Can't or Won't?

**Can't, or Won't?**

* * *

Crystal was fidgeting.

She didn't usually feel the need. Quiet contemplation had always been something she enjoyed, in moderation. But the silence in their car was stifling, and she wanted nothing more than to roll down the window and jump out into the open sky, to let the wind card its fingers through her hair. She wanted to forget everything.

That couldn't happen, though. She took a deep breath, and released it.

It was harder, she supposed, because she wasn't used to having to worry about Vicky. She'd seemed invincible ever since she'd gotten her power, always flying into the thick of danger and coming back grinning. Now, she'd been badly hurt three times in around two months, and the sudden vulnerability just seemed wrong.

Amy had always been there, too. As long as they were alive, they'd be okay—that was how it _was._ Not anymore, she supposed. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she was trying not to focus on that. A deep breath in.

Crystal stared out the window, trying to distract herself. The roads were hell, of course. They had been since Leviathan, much like everything else in the city. Like everything else in general. The only reason they were taking the van at all was that Mark couldn't fly.

Up front in the passenger's seat, Carol began digging around in her purse. "I'm calling her," she said shortly, when mom gave her a concerned look.

The phone rang a long time, before it eventually went to voicemail. Carol snarled, then dialed again. Crystal rubbed at her forehead, frustrated and anxious and trying very hard not to say out loud that of _course_ she wasn't answering, she didn't _care._

Then, on the fourth ring, Amy picked up.

"Carol, I—" she started to say, her voice tinny and barely audible from where Crystal sat clenching her teeth and fists.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Carol seethed, gripping her phone so hard that it looked like it might break. "Did they not tell you what happened?"

"They did."

"Then _where are you?!"_

"I'm sorry!" From the sound of it, Amy was crying. Crystal bit her lip—she was family too, adopted or not. She'd played with the rest of them when they were children, running through a sprinkler in the backyard and talking excitedly about what powers they were going to have when they grew up. It was ironic, really—back then, when they'd been utterly powerless, _that_ was when they were safe. Invulnerable, even.

Now there were only three of them, and the count might drop to two because Amy just _wouldn't do anything._ Crystal would've fought Leviathan alone if it could have saved Eric, would have challenged Scion himself if it meant he wouldn't have died. She'd do it for Victoria in a heartbeat, but all she could ever do was break things. Even her shield was useless, just a pale shadow compared to her brother's. And the one person, the _only person_ she knew who had so much power to heal and protect... wouldn't.

 _"Sorry?"_ Carol spat, enraged. "Victoria could _die,_ and you'd rather let that happen than save her with a _touch!"_

There was a muffled noise from the other end of the phone, then a long, crackling _hiss._ Another burst of static, and Crystal could hear Amy talking. She was too far away to hear what she was saying, but Carol seemed incensed.

"Can't, or won't?" she growled.

"Carol," her mom interjected, glancing between her sister and the road. "I think maybe you should try to—"

 _"Don't_ tell me to calm down. My daughter is lying in a _hospital bed_ because Amy doesn't feel like helping her!"

Amy was her daughter, too, but Crystal didn't say that. Instead she pulled her legs up onto her chair and hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on top of them. Her breath sounded too harsh and loud to her, and she willed herself to hold it together. Vicky would be fine, she was _always_ fine, except these last few weeks she kept _not_ being fine, and every time it seemed to get worse.

Another deep breath, and she forced herself to put her legs down. She hadn't done that since she was little. It made her feel small and stupid, and that wasn't what she needed right now.

"—hiding from this!" Carol was shouting. Crystal had missed the first half of the sentence, but by the time her aunt had finished her chest was heaving, and Amy had hung up with a click.

Carol stared at the screen for a moment, face rigid, before shoving the phone back in her pocket and saying, "I'm going after her."

The car swerved a little to the left, as her mom tightened her grip on the wheel. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said. "You're too upset—"

"I am _so far beyond upset_ right now," Carol snapped, and her mom winced.

"It's understandable, but if you talk to her now you're just going to shout at her and I don't think it'll help."

"If you think I'm just going to leave her to it..." Carol trailed of menacingly.

"No. I'm saying you should be with Vicky. I'll talk to Amy, and try to figure out what's going on with her."

As always, her mom had a calming effect on her aunt. At the very least, she didn't look ready to kill someone anymore. If Crystal were to guess, she'd say what really got through to her was the part about going to see Vicky.

"Mom?" she asked, surprising even herself. Both women turned to look at her, though her mother had to turn back to see where she was driving.

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I go with you?"

Her mother met her eyes through the rearview mirror, frowning thoughtfully, and glanced at Carol. "I don't see why not," she said eventually.

Crystal mustered a thin smile, then went back to staring out the window. She wasn't quite sure if she regretted speaking up or not. Part of her wanted to sit down in Vicky's hospital room and not move until her cousin could get up and fly figure eights again, but... she'd known Amy for years. She had to know why she was abandoning them like this.

They split up soon after that. Carol got into the driver's seat, and Crystal and her mom took off toward the PRT building. She couldn't really focus. It used to be that the wind in her hair and the world looking so tiny down below her could take her mind off any problem, but she couldn't help obsessing over... well, everything.

She could still remember before Leviathan, when she and Eric would meet their cousins in some abandoned lot somewhere. They'd fly around, taking turns carrying Amy so that she wouldn't feel quite so left out. It had been before she triggered, when they'd still been expecting her to join them one day. Once she started healing, the evening flights had eventually stopped.

For the life of her, Crystal couldn't figure out when things had gotten so fucked up. Her first instinct was to think of Leviathan, but when she really thought about it, there had been something wrong before that. If she could just _understand..._

Crystal narrowly dodged a nearby office building, and did her best to get her head in the game. There was no point in speculating—she'd done more than enough of that in the last few weeks. She was going to ask Amy directly, and she wasn't leaving without an answer.

It felt as though she had a hot snake in her gut, twisting and turning and knotting itself into a ball. She'd never quite known why Vicky couldn't just calm down and _think_ before charging in, but now she was having trouble just flying in a straight line.

Fortunately, it wasn't far to the PRT building. They'd already been headed toward the hospital, and the two buildings were close together. Crystal managed not to brain herself on a telephone pole long enough for her and her mom to touch down out front.

She stared at the entrance for a moment, fidgeting again. Her mom put a hand on her shoulder and smiled weakly.

They walked in together, and Crystal felt almost as jittery as she had the day she and Eric had gone on their first mission. It had been before he'd dyed his hair, and he'd kept making awful puns the whole flight over, shouting to be heard above the wind. At the time she'd thought he was just being an ass as usual, but now she suspected he had been trying to cheer her up.

Inside, a harassed-looking PRT employee was trying to juggle a stack of paperwork, an irritated young man, and a precariously balanced thermos on the edge of her desk. The thermos lost, fell to the ground, and spilled what looked like soup all over the floor.

"I've had this appointment booked for months," the man snapped, ignoring the accident and tapping the desk with one fingernail. "And you people cancel _the day before?"_

"I apologize," the worker said, in the sort of tone that suggested she'd like nothing more than to beat him to death with his own femur—Crystal had heard it from Vicky often enough. "The Director is busy dealing with the recent Endbringer attack, something came up that she couldn't—"

"Excuse me," Crystal's mother interjected politely. The employee looked for a moment like she might cry.

"One _minute,"_ she chirped, with manic peppiness.

"I need to know where Amy Dallon is," mom continued apologetically. "It's urgent."

The girl blinked, seemed to realize who she was talking to, and pointed at the stairs. "Panacea should be in the Wards common room," she supplied. "Up the stairs and—"

"We know where it is, thanks," Crystal interrupted, as nicely as she could manage, and glided off, feet skimming against the linoleum floor.

The last time she had been here, she was doing her best to drag Vicky away from Dean long enough to go on patrol. They'd just started one of their 'on' months, and were being absolutely insufferable.

She passed Chris as she flew up the stairs, and was momentarily thrown by the white gauze wrapped around his head.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

He blinked hazily, then nodded. Blinked again. "Oh!" he said, perking up. "Laserdream!"

Crystal rolled her eyes. Chris seemed to realize he'd been asked a question, and blurted, "Head-wound!" Stopped. Looked forlornly at the empty coffee cup in his hand. "I mean, I got a cut on my forehead and they had to bandage it up. It looks way worse than it is!" He grinned sheepishly.

"That's good," she replied. "Do you know where Amy is?"

He winced. "Um, I don't think I should..." Crystal glared at him.

"She doesn't want to talk to anyone," he explained. "I can't really... I should go." He waved, then started to move past her. Stopped. "Good luck," he said, and fled down the stairs.

Crystal and her mother climbed the rest of the steps, then took a few turns and emerged in the wide-open Wards' common room. Missy was seated on the ring of couches near the front of the room, along with another girl Crystal didn't recognize. Both of them stood up, though the newcomer looked significantly more alarmed.

"Hi Crystal," Missy said nervously, moving surreptitiously to block off the rest of the room. She glanced at the other girl, and said, "Lily, this is Crystal—a.k.a. Laserdream—"

"Where's Amy," Crystal's mom interrupted. "We need to speak with her."

Vista grimaced, looking momentarily stricken, then moved aside and pointed to a nearby cubicle. "She's in there, but... um..."

"Thank you."

The two of them strode past him, and Crystal felt her hands balling up into fists. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Amy was family. This _had_ to be some kind of mistake, or miscommunication, or... or... there had to be an _explanation,_ at least.

Missy trailed after them, stealing panicked glances at Crystal and her mom. The newly-introduced Lily looked equally uncertain, but backed up to the television as if to make absolutely clear that she was _not_ involved in this.

That was fine. It was a family problem.

"Amy!" mom called out. There was a muffled noise from within one of the cubicles, then silence.

"Aunt Sarah?" a shaky voice asked, when it became clear that they weren't leaving.

"Yes. Could you come out?" Mom's voice was gentler than Crystal could ever have managed.

"I can't help," Amy insisted through the door.

 _Can't, or won't?_ Crystal thought bitterly, but didn't say it.

"We just want to talk to you."

The door opened with an air of resignation, and Amy's face poked out from behind the doorframe. Crystal's heart seized—she was a _mess._ Her hair hung around her face in tangled waves, and she was hugging herself with both arms as though she'd fall apart if she let go.

"Hey, Amy," Crystal said, feeling suddenly as though she was intruding. She supposed she was, but she didn't have much of a choice.

Her cousin tried to smile, but her mouth only trembled and twitched upward. "Hi," she mumbled. The Wards, who had been hovering nervously behind them, seemed to relax a little at that.

"Carol isn't here?" Amy asked, glancing around anxiously. Mom shook her head.

"She's with Victoria."

If there was a better way to break whatever friendly facade they'd been building, Crystal didn't know what it could be. Amy slumped in on herself, and stared in uncharacteristic fascination at her feet. She wasn't wearing shoes, just a pair of worn-looking white socks that might have belonged to Dennis.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, inching back a little so that the doorframe was between her and them.

Crystal couldn't help it. "Then why are you here?!" she demanded, _pleaded._ "Why are you doing this to us? To _yourself?"_

"I can't help her," Amy repeated miserably.

Mom stepped forward. "We're only trying to understand," she soothed. Amy backed away another step, then looked around at the cubicle she'd just trapped herself in with obvious alarm. As soon as she noticed, mom moved back to give her space. Crystal grimaced.

It was hard to be angry at Amy, now that she was actually looking at her—but she had to say it. "We're not sure how well she'll be able to walk, after this," Crystal said. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. "Or if she'll still be... here."

"I'd just make it worse," Amy insisted.

"I really don't think you _could,"_ Crystal snapped. "That guy went right through her shield."

"I know. They... showed me. A picture, I mean."

Crystal closed her mouth. Part of her was suddenly filled with righteous fury—at Amy, at whoever had used that photo against her, to try and force her into... what? Into not letting her sister die?

 _"Why?"_ she half-shouted, fisting a hand in her hair to keep herself from punching the wall. "Why can't you help her?"

"I told you," Amy said, looking away from her. "I'd make it worse."

Mom put her hand on Crystal's shoulder, but she'd already backed down. If she'd _seen,_ and still thought she could make it worse...

She stalked off, not quite composed or adult enough to say a polite goodbye, and stopped in the middle of the room. What was she supposed to do, then? Go back to the hospital and tell Vicky, 'Sorry, your little sister doesn't want to help you?'

"Let me talk to her for a few minutes," mom suggested, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Then... we'll head to the hospital. I'd guess we'll probably still get there at around the same time as Mark and Carol."

Crystal nodded despondently, and her mother walked away. She started picking at the fabric of her costume, trying to think of what could _possibly_ go so wrong with Amy's powers. She'd had them for years, and they'd never been unstable before.

The new Ward—she'd already forgotten her name—had decided to be elsewhere. Missy had stayed, and was fidgeting awkwardly as she stood in the common room. Crystal made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and wandered toward the kitchenette. They probably didn't have anything _good,_ but the whole of New Wave had left the house in a panic that afternoon when they'd gotten the call about Victoria.

They'd been having a meeting about Amy, to figure out what had happened and how to fix the hole that had been torn in their team. Well, one of the holes. Victoria had stormed out halfway through—she must have gone flying and seen Grue's darkness. By the time they realized she was _gone,_ not just hiding in her room, it was too late.

Anyway, the whole ordeal meant she'd had to jump in the car before she got to eat lunch, and she was suddenly starving. Hospital food had a bad reputation, and based on the few times she'd gone there to visit Amy, it was well deserved in Brockton Bay.

Crystal bit her lip, and rummaged through a nearby drawer. She found a couple packets of rather sad-looking instant oatmeal, and grabbed one. But when she turned, she found herself face-to-face with another person. Crystal yelped—she'd been so caught up that she hadn't even noticed the girl sitting at the little table.

"Oh," she blurted. "Sorry. Do you mind if I take this?" She held up the oatmeal, and the other girl nodded. Her hair fell down into her eyes as she did so—it was a deep brown, cut short and a bit choppy.

"Please do," she said quietly, glancing nervously at the bright red comet on Crystal's costume.

"Um, sorry," Crystal told her, "But I'm not sure who you are, exactly?"

The girl winced. "I changed my name recently, but... Cobalt?" There was an excruciating pause, before she held out her left hand with the air of someone who wasn't fully expecting to get it back.

"Oh." Crystal shook it, noting with mild surprise that the girl had a strong grip. Her mind cast about for something, _anything_ to say. "What's your name now, then?"

"Aurora," she replied, and shrugged. "It seemed strange to keep calling myself Cobalt when my armor is orange."

"...Right." Crystal looked closer, and noticed a bandage wrapped around Aurora's right shoulder. Otherwise, she looked to have made it out of the fight with Scrub completely unscathed. It was hard not to feel bitter about that.

"Listen, um..." Aurora hedged, shifting uneasily in her seat. "I'm sorry, about what happened at Arcadia."

Crystal blinked. The fight in question seemed so far away, now, but she could remember the terror and confusion that had come from hearing that someone had managed to break Victoria's ankle. Amy had said she'd sulked around the house for days afterward.

Eric had been there, too, and had ranted to her about it hours once he'd finished debriefing. He didn't usually curse that much, but she'd assured him that he'd done the right thing, that he'd protected Vicky and Amy. Sentry had pointed a gun at her cousin—her cousin the healer, who'd never hurt anyone in her life, who'd saved thousands of lives and had been keeping their family safe and healthy for years.

He'd also, according to Vicky, stolen this girl off the street. Crystal couldn't be angry at her for that. "It's okay," she said, pulling up a chair on the other side of the table. "And... thank you."

Aurora cocked her head, looking confused. Part of Crystal was amused—Dennis had the same little tic, born from a need to express himself through a full-face mask.

"You helped Vicky, before. So, thanks." It wasn't really enough to communicate properly just how terrified Crystal had been when she heard the news, that the invincible Glory Girl was in an ambulance. That wasn't supposed to happen, not to Victoria, but from what Crystal had heard her cousin had actually gotten _lucky._ Not as lucky as Aurora, maybe, but Scrub's power could have just as easily killed her outright.

"I wasn't going to leave her there," Aurora replied, frowning. She glanced up, turning in the general direction of where Amy's cubicle was. "Are you here for Panacea?"

"Oh, yeah," Crystal said, a bit taken aback by the sudden change of topic. Scowling, she turned to follow Aurora's gaze.

"She won't help," Crystal continued, after a lengthy pause. It came out sounding more bitter than she'd intended.

Aurora nodded solemnly. "I heard," she said, and turned her attention back to the table. Her left hand flexed, and Crystal noticed for the first time a lattice of scars that crisscrossed over her knuckles and up her arm, before they eventually vanished beneath her sleeve.

"Your hand," she said, pointing. Aurora went stiff as a board, and tugged her sleeve down over the injury. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," she mumbled, then stood up and walked away from the table. Crystal was left alone, staring after the girl with a slight sinking feeling in her gut. Had Sentry done that?

Crystal sat in silence for a while, picking at the oatmeal. She'd lost her appetite after chasing Aurora away—or maybe it had been when she'd seen Amy. Either way, the food tasted like mushy cardboard and she was almost relieved when her mother came up to her and gestured for them to leave. Almost—Amy wasn't with her.

"She's not coming," Crystal said more than asked, and mom nodded with a grimace. "Did she say why?"

"Not specifically, but we can't force her."

Crystal wasn't sure how true that was, but she didn't really have the heart to try. She was already dreading having to explain all this to Victoria.

They left the building with their heads down. Crystal couldn't meet the eyes of any of the Wards, and she didn't really want to talk to anyone anyway. She couldn't stop wondering about Amy.

"What did you guys talk about?" she asked her mother.

"I tried to get her to open up to me."

Crystal frowned. Amy and her sister had always been close—she realized rather suddenly that she had no idea who she'd go to if she couldn't talk to Victoria.

"Did she?"

"No." Mom scowled at the floor. "But we need to keep Carol from coming over here, if we can."

"What? Why?"

"She's angry," her mother explained sadly. "I think we can talk Amy around if we give it time, but Carol isn't thinking straight right now."

"And you are?" It was an honest question, really. Crystal knew _she_ wasn't—she couldn't even make up her mind on whether she wanted to hug her cousin or strangle her.

Her mother didn't answer. She just brooded, and if Crystal weren't doing the exact thing herself she might have been tempted to call her out on it. She'd been mocked for it when she was a teenager—mostly by Eric, but her parents had teased her a bit, too. Not seriously, just making fun of her for all the melodrama. Payback might've been nice.

They flew off together, skimming over the rooftops again as they followed in the direction of the van. The sun was just touching the horizon, and from up in the air the bay looked as though it was on fire. Not an unfamiliar sight, considering the past few months, but having it be figurative rather than literal was a nice change of pace.

By the time they touched down the hospital, it seemed like Carol and Mark were already there. Crystal assumed, anyway—she could see their van, empty and hastily abandoned in the parking lot.

Hospitals weren't exactly unfamiliar to Crystal. She could remember spending a lot of time there before Amy had triggered, healing up from one injury or another. Most of her more recent experience with the hospital had been waiting around to pick up her cousin when Victoria was busy, or passing the time until she was healed. She remembered it as a place of quiet boredom, not something sinister.

Crystal wasn't ready to see Victoria. She _definitely_ wasn't ready to see her in the ICU.

Someone had obviously tried hard to make the room feel comfortable and inviting. The walls were a pleasant shade of pastel blue, and there was a television hanging neatly from one wall. Vicky lay in bed, her head propped up by a pillow and her hair spread out in a frazzled halo all around her. Her eyes were closed, and Crystal had to reassure herself by watching her chest rise and fall, rise and fall.

Her hospital gown matched the walls, though the color looked a lot uglier on a person than it did a building. Maybe that was just the way the thin fabric bunched up, the plastic sheen to it that made it abundantly clear that something was _wrong,_ because Vicky wouldn't be caught dead wearing that if she could help it.

Mom walked into the room, leveling a polite nod at Carol and Mark, who were seated on Vicky's right side in cloying silence. Crystal followed her, trying not to look at the bundle of bandages around her cousin's leg. The air smelled like antiseptic, and she wondered how Amy could stand to spend so much time here.

She had thought Victoria was sleeping, but as the newcomers entered she opened her eyes and smiled. It was wider than normal, a bit sloppy, and her aura buzzed at the edges of Crystal's mind. Normally that would annoy her, and Carol would snap at her daughter to "Tone it down, Vicky!" Now, it was almost comforting.

"Hey," she managed, at a loss for what else to say. Vicky kept grinning, and Crystal began to suspect she was on painkillers.

"Hi," she said back. It wasn't quite chipper—she sounded too exhausted for that—but it was so quintessentially _Vicky_ to sound like that after getting hurt so badly she'd almost _died_ that Crystal couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes!" Vicky crowed, waving her fist weakly in the air. "Finally, I get a laugh."

"Sorry we're so late," mom said tenderly, brushing a few strands of hair off Victoria's forehead. It didn't do much—another dozen took their place.

"S'okay," she mumbled sleepily. A small frown passed across her face. "Is Amy with you?"

Crystal looked at the floor, and shook her head.

"Oh." Her face fell, and her injured foot twitched, prompting her to hiss in pain. Carol leapt from her seat and hovered, unsure of what to do.

"It's fine," Vicky grunted.

"What—" Crystal said, then winced as her voice cracked. "What did the doctor say?" she finished, changing the subject as quickly a she could.

"It's healing," Carol replied curtly. "They said she's out of the worst of it, now that she's awake."

"Did she say anything?" Vicky asked. Crystal could see her aunt's jaw tightening, ready to go on another rampage—but Mark laid a hand on her shoulder.

"She said..." Crystal glanced at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. "She said she'd make it worse if she came."

Victoria's brow furrowed. "I'm going to talk to her," she decided. Looked down. "I mean, later. When I can get out of here." Crystal was entirely unsurprised by the revelation that her cousin was a fussy patient. Nothing ever kept her still for very long.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," mom said hesitantly.

"I have to know what happened," Vicky insisted. "I don't... I don't think I did anything..." Her eyes grew unfocused, though whether that was the painkillers or she was just lost in thought, Crystal didn't know. Carol leaned over the bed and wrapped her in a hug. Mark joined her, and then mom as well.

Then it was Crystal's turn, and she leaned uncomfortably over the bed. It was awkward, unwieldy, and just about everything a hug shouldn't be.

"I'll help you," she found herself saying—quietly, because she wasn't totally sure how Carol would react. "When you get better, I'll come with you to talk to her." She straightened up, leaving Victoria looking stunned, but happy.

The room seemed a little less severe, after that. Vicky was acting like herself again—at least, as much as she could be when she was drugged and sleepy and badly dressed. The five of them talked for nearly an hour, and no one ever mentioned the fold-out wheelchair some helpful nurse had left in the corner of the room.

Besides, it wasn't like they'd be able to get Vicky to use it. Crystal fully expected her to start floating everywhere instead, just because she could.

They'd make it through this. Whatever had happened to Amy, they could work it out together—as a family.


	34. A Short Break

**A Short Break**

* * *

It turned out Dennis could hold a conversation almost entirely by himself.

"Nice weather we're having," he observed, kicking his feet up onto the common room table. "I mean, if you like rain."

He paused, waiting for a response. I didn't really know what to say to that, but my silence wasn't about to stop him.

"I wonder if it's because of Leviathan, or just that it's spring," Dennis wondered aloud. "Though, I guess it's not really spring anymore. Hah, this is about when teachers would start giving up on their jobs and just wait it out until the break." There was a strange note to his voice now, almost melancholic.

"That was all the time, in Winslow," I quipped, grinning in an attempt to lighten the mood. He jolted upright and stared at me.

"What?" I asked, after a moment.

"She speaks!" he declared, spreading his arms wide and collapsing backward onto the couch he was occupying. "I was starting to feel like I was talking to myself."

"You were," I pointed out.

"Well, not anymore!"

I couldn't help but smile. Dennis was good at this—he was breaking the ice, at least. The two of us had been suffering through a stiflingly awkward silence before he'd finally given up and started carrying on with his very one-sided conversation.

This afternoon had been set aside as a short break for the Wards, since we'd been patrolling almost nonstop for the past month or so and Miss Militia had decided that Brockton Bay could survive without us for a few hours. Personally, I was enjoying the work—but most of my schedule involved tinkering and wandering around the city in my armor, both of which I'd happily spend my whole life doing if I could. Even so, I'd been exhausted lately. Between working on my suit to appease the Wards and spending every spare moment on the cybernetics, I hadn't been sleeping enough. A day to relax would be nice.

Of course, there was another reason I'd enthusiastically agreed to the idea—all the time spent on my cybernetics had finally paid off. I'd finished the augmentation for both my legs the day before, and the break would give me plenty of opportunity to sneak off and install them.

So, I'd agreed to stay out of the lab for a few hours and hang out with the rest of the Wards. That was all well and good, but I'd gotten there far too early, along with Dennis. I was used to fading into the background somewhat, and letting the others carry most of the conversation. Now that I was actually alone with one of them, I realized just how out of practice I was with talking to other teenagers.

Still, Dennis was a good sport at least—and apparently immune to embarrassment. The conversation tapered off again, and he stayed quiet, apparently paying intense attention to one of his shoes as he bounced it up and down on the tabletop. It didn't take long for the silence to become unbearable.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, glancing around the room.

"Missy and Lily just got up," Dennis said, ticking them off on two of his fingers. "Weld was on patrol, but I think he got back a few minutes ago. He's probably changing. And Chris..." he made a face. "Yeah, no idea. We might have to check the lab."

I made an indignant noise. "If I have to stay out the whole day—"

Dennis laughed at me. I was sure it wasn't meant to be unkind, and he wasn't a malicious person... but it rubbed me the wrong way.

"What?" I demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," he chuckled. "I just don't get how you guys can stand spending so much time in there."

"It's my power." I said defensively. "I like working with it."

"I guess," Dennis allowed. "But if I had to practice with mine six hours a day, I'd go nuts."

"Tinkers," I said, and shrugged. He laughed again.

"Enough said."

I didn't really know how to respond to that, but I didn't have to—I could hear footsteps outside. Loud, clanging footsteps, metal on tile. It took me a tense few seconds to realize that it was _Weld,_ he must be going barefoot.

The leader of the Wards emerged into the common room with Chris hovering behind him, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Sorry," he told the room at large. I blinked.

"I found him in the lab," Weld explained, with an air of tolerant amusement.

"Hey!" I yelped, glaring at Chris. "I thought we had a deal!" To be fair, I fully intended to sneak back in there at some point, to retrieve my cybernetics. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"Sorry!" he repeated. "I just wanted to test out the new upgrade."

"Oh!" And, just like that, all was forgiven. I sat up immediately, feeling intensely curious. "How'd it work?"

I'd been able to wire a little of the synthetic muscle into his power armor, to improve the speed. In return, he'd helped me install a small blaster into the right arm of my own. I'd been caught flat-footed without ranged weapons in _way_ too many fights, now.

Chris perked up the second it was mentioned. "It's great! I mean, there are some bugs with the integration that I need to work out, but the joints can move a lot faster. That means I can load on more gear, and I've been meaning to test out a few designs for—"

"Uh, guys?" Dennis interrupted. "I thought we were taking a break."

"Right!" Chris blurted, and moved to take a seat on one of the couches. Before we could lapse into awkward silence again—or at least before Dennis started talking to himself—Missy and Lily both emerged from the maze of cubicles on the far end of the common room. Their hair was wet, and I suspected they'd just gotten out of the showers.

"Hey!" Missy called out. I'd seated myself on the very edge of one of the couches, so she walked around me and took the spot just to my left.

It was at about this point that we collectively realized none of us had any idea of what to do when we weren't on patrol. At least, _I_ didn't, and the others seemed to have gotten out of practice.

Dennis was, as always, the first to speak. "Do we have any party food around?" he asked, craning his neck to try and peer over the back of the couch.

I shrugged. "I'll eat anything."

"Except oatmeal," he pointed out, raising a finger in mock accusation.

I flushed, looked at the ground, and mumbled, "I got sick of it."

"No worries," Dennis decided. "It's not like that counts as party food."

"We don't have any snacks," Weld broke in. "Probably won't until the city gets back on its feet." _If_ the city got back on its feet—but I didn't want to ruin the mood by saying that out loud.

"Okay," Dennis said, clapping his hands together. "No food. No games. That's... more of a gathering than anything else."

"That's fine," Missy murmured. "I'd feel weird throwing a party when the city is like this, anyway."

"We could talk," Weld offered. "I think it'd be good to get to know one another better." Dennis made a face, but didn't say anything.

"Right," I blurted, once the long pause had grown uncomfortable. "Anyone want anything to drink? We have tea and coffee, I think, and there might be some soda in the fridge."

It turned out I was the only one who wanted tea, though Dennis and Missy both took sodas. Weld followed me into the kitchenette on the pretense of helping me carry drinks back, but the second we were out of sight he said, "I wanted to talk to you."

"What's wrong?" I asked, pausing halfway through retrieving a cluster of mugs. There were two in each hand, a testament to how nice it was to be able to use my right again. The sprain had finally healed, and I was enjoying being somewhat ambidextrous for the first time in my life.

"Nothing's wrong," Weld assured me, busying himself with the coffee maker. "I just wanted to ask how you were doing."

My eyes narrowed. "I'm fine," I said, maybe a little more defensively than the question really warranted.

"It's alright. I'm not trying to push you or anything, I just wanted to ask." He didn't look up from what he was doing, something I found oddly soothing.

"I really am okay," I insisted. "Better than I have been in a while, at least." And wasn't that incredibly sad?

As soon as I could, I gathered up a few drinks—my own tea, and the two sodas—and retreated back to the couches.

"Sparring," Dennis told me, as I was placing them on the table.

"What?"

"This is boring," he said bluntly. "So, we thought we could go and practice. Maybe have a tournament or something." I glanced at the others—Missy was practically vibrating with excitement, and the rest looked engaged enough.

"I'm in, I guess."

Weld returned a moment later, and insisted that we at least finish the drinks before we left. I was more than happy to oblige—the Wards had good tea.

My good mood lasted only halfway through the mug, when Missy slumped back in her seat and said, "I'm worried about Amy."

It was a total non sequitur, of course, and the whole room grew suddenly somber. I couldn't blame Missy for bringing it up, though, not when she'd been agonizing about Panacea ever since the incident with the Merchants. The healer had run off shortly after that, without even bothering to pack the small bag she'd brought to the PRT.

"She'll be okay," Weld assured us. Missy looked unconvinced—it didn't sound like he was that sure, either.

Dennis groaned and leaned back in his chair. "I don't get it. Any of it. I'm starting to think parahumans are just crazy."

"You're a cape, too," I pointed out.

"I rest my case."

"I think it had something to do with her family showing up," Missy continued, undeterred.

"It's not really up to us to figure out," Weld asserted. "We can try to help as much as we can, but it's a team issue."

I scowled—I wasn't even sure why. Just the situation at large, I supposed. Panacea shouldn't have run away like that. She'd be in danger, especially with powers as useful as hers. I'd know.

"You met Crystal, right?" Dennis said, after a moment. It seemed like he was trying to change the subject—and I was more than willing to help him out with that.

"Yeah," I agreed, then froze as I remembered exactly how that conversation had gone. She'd seen my hand, and I'd made the worst possible move and practically run away from her. It would've been better if I'd played it off, obviously, but I hadn't realized my sleeve had gotten rolled up so much. Recently, I'd been doing my best to keep the scars covered, but Chris had also noticed the odd marks. At least that time I had an excuse, that I'd gone out jogging and fallen into one of the many sinkholes Leviathan had made.

I'd never claimed it was a _good_ excuse. Still, he didn't ask any more—though that was probably because I'd done my best to distract him with tinkering.

"Did she mention Arcadia?" asked Dennis. He paused, then winced. "Sorry, I just meant... that was probably a bit..."

"Awkward?" I suggested. "You could say that."

"Um," Lily cut in. "What do you mean by Arcadia?" She frowned. "I keep hearing people mention it, but..."

Everyone else all turned to look at me in ragged unison. I fidgeted uncomfortably, then said, "I was part of an attack on Arcadia high school." There really was no way to phrase that diplomatically, so I didn't bother trying.

To my surprise, Lily just nodded. "Oh, right." She seemed to notice the shocked look on my face, because she added, "They briefed us on the situation here before we transferred. The attack was mentioned, just not by name."

I felt my face flush, and turned to stare at my hands where they were folded in my lap. "Yeah," I muttered. "I guess it would be."

Dennis, who seemed to have realized what he'd just caused, spoke up in my defense. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "We know that."

I forced a smile and glanced at the clock—half past four. The break would end at eight, so I had time. After the sparring matches, I could leave. I felt a bit guilty about ditching the rest of the Wards, but I had patrol with Kid Win right afterward and wouldn't get the chance for another several hours.

"Did Laserdream..." Missy began, then trailed off. "I mean, was she... holding a grudge?" she finished hesitantly.

I shook my head. "No. Water under the bridge, apparently. She actually thanked me for... well, for distracting Scrub."

"That's good," Chris said.

Weld made a face. "Just... don't do anything like that again." I didn't respond, and the others all turned to look at me again.

"It's fine," I told them. "I have a blaster in my armor, now, so I won't have to get that close."

"That's not the problem," Weld insisted. "The _problem_ is that you could have gotten yourself killed.

I bristled, glaring at him. "What was I supposed to do, leave Glory Girl on the ground?"

Weld groaned. "No. But you should have let me handle it. I can survive losing pieces, remember?"

"Considering that's my old shoulder pauldron you're holding your coffee with, yeah." I tipped my mug all the way back, swallowing the last of the tea. It had gone lukewarm.

"Let's go," I suggested, eager to change the subject and to work off a bit of my own frustration.

"Yes!" Dennis whooped, leaping clear out of his seat. I got up a bit more stiffly, mostly because I'd been sitting on my left leg too long and had to deal with pins and needles.

We moved to the gym without talking that much. I was given permission by Weld to visit my lab and retrieve the armor, and took the opportunity to check on the newest cybernetics. They were still in their bag, nestled safely under a table by the far wall. I'd been doing most of the work at home and only bringing back parts from the Wards, but had decided that it would be easier to install them before my patrol today if they were already at the PRT building when I needed them. No one had touched them, as far as I could tell, nor the old sweatshirt I'd bundled up on top to hide them.

Now wasn't really the time to find a good spot to install them, so I left them under the desk and walked out of the lab wearing my armor. The new blaster made a satisfying thrumming noise as it powered on, and I found that I was looking forward to testing it on something. I'd originally assumed the whole sparring idea was Dennis', but was beginning to suspect it had been Chris all along, eager of an opportunity to test his own suit.

By the time I met up with the others again, I'd already plugged my armor in and started stretching out my arms. I didn't strictly need to, but it felt nice and was a good way to mentally prepare myself for the match.

It turned out that a tournament wouldn't really be feasible. For one thing, a fight between Weld and I, or Kid Win for that matter, would be way more trouble than it was worth for obvious reasons. Weld was also just about perfectly countered by Clockblocker, since he relied on close-range combat and would have to pull off some pretty stunning martial arts to have a hope of pinning him down without being touched.

So, in the interest of a more fair and entertaining fight, Weld suggested teams. He, Kid Win, and I would form one to avoid the issue of getting stuck together too much, and the other three would be our opponents.

The only thing left to do once that was decided was to find someone to referee the match, and to give us permission. Miss Militia was out patrolling, along with the rest of the Protectorate—that was how we'd gotten the afternoon off in the first place. We'd probably end up working extra hours tomorrow, so that the adults could have some time to themselves as well.

Dennis was firmly against asking "Piggy" for permission to have our little mock battle, mostly because he thought she'd say no. I saw no reason to argue with that, so we went to Deputy Director Renick instead.

"You want to spend your day off fighting one another?" he asked, sounding distinctly amused.

Weld looked a bit embarrassed, but nodded and said, "We'd like to work on our teamwork, and this seemed like a good way to get used to one another's fighting styles." Renick had given his permission without much of a fuss, though he still seemed to find the whole thing rather funny. He also sent a pair of PRT agents with us, to make sure we didn't injure one another too badly.

In the end, we all squared off in the middle of the gym, each team on our own side. Weld had apparently suggested an obstacle course when he first arrived, but unless the city stabilized the idea was too impractical to bother with at the moment. Instead, we had a single room with little to nothing in the way of cover. I grinned—it was the _perfect_ setting to test out my new gun.

"On three," Weld called out, crouching down and forming his hand into a club. I glanced down at my arm, noting with satisfaction that the little LED Chris had added on the back of my gauntlet was still glowing blue. It would turn red when the blaster in my hand was at low charge, then power off entirely when I was empty.

"One."

The whole room tensed. Flechette loaded her arbalest. Her power had taken on a much more sinister cast in my eyes, now that I'd fought Scrub. She couldn't use it on such large areas, sure, but the effect was similar and she could _aim._

"Two."

Clockblocker shot a cheeky grin at Vista, and it occurred to me that it maybe wasn't such a good idea to put the two of them on the same side. I'd never seen them work together in person before, but the look on their faces when they'd realized they were going to be teaming up had been unnerving.

"Three."

The six of us all jumped into action. Flechette dodged to the side, moving up and out of the way, and the whole room bent around us. It progressed slowly, very slowly, because the gym was fairly crowded and that had always given Vista trouble—but the space directly around her had no such constraints and was already twisted beyond recognition.

Seeing this, I loosed two blasts in Clockblocker's direction—he was the most immediate threat, not counting Vista. Which I didn't, because she was the center of a mini kaleidoscope of space and there was no earthly way I'd hit her. A tiny ball of energy flew from the end of my arm and straight toward Clockblocker—until it bent at a nearly ninety degree angle and spent itself harmlessly on the far wall. I gritted my teeth. It was a friendly spar, of course, but I could see how that effect could get annoying in a real fight.

Flechette was apparently not burdened by the same problems as I was. She shot three bolts, each of which sailed straight and true and embedded themselves in Weld's feet, nailing him to the ground. He overbalanced, but managed to catch himself on one hand and started working to pull himself free. The bolts wouldn't budge.

Clockblocker, meanwhile, had darted through a shortcut in space and was headed straight for me. I fired at him again, and this time the shot didn't veer off course. I still missed by a hair, and made a mental note to practice aiming at some point. Preferably before our next life-or-death fight.

My second blast caught him on the shoulder, and he stumbled momentarily mid-run. Kid Win's gun came with two settings, both non-lethal. I'd left it on the lower one, which was meant to unbalance and confuse an enemy, but not wound or stun them. This was probably better for the spirit of healthy competition we were aiming for, but meant I couldn't rely on the gun as a primary weapon. Would the higher setting be similar? I'd certainly be able to do more damage just punching someone, but the question of whether or not the range would make it worthwhile would have to wait.

Weld finally managed to free himself, not by removing the bolts from the ground but by removing his foot from the bolts. He tore himself loose, leaving three neat holes where the darts had punched right through him. Clockblocker, seeing this, ducked sideways to keep me between him and Weld as much as he could.

Kid Win was doing his best to hold off Flechette, and had apparently tried to get around the problem of aiming by shooting as many concussive blasts as he could, in rapid succession. Most of his shots bent off in wild directions, but every now and then a series of them would head directly for their target. One even caught her in the arm, and knocked her backwards a few steps.

Why were some getting through, and not others? I'd initially assumed that Vista was bending our attacks and letting Flechette fire without interference, but that didn't make much sense. I didn't think her power was fast enough to catch a blast in midair, and she'd have to be focusing on each attack individually to be able to let some through and not others. And, if she _wasn't_ doing that... there was only one way to single out Flechette specifically, between the three of us. Her power.

So, on a hunch, I raised my arm and fired at Flechette, just as she was preparing to shoot Weld again. The shot flew clean past Vista, and hit her in the chest. She overbalanced, and her bolt missed Weld and impaled itself in the wall. I grinned.

Flechette had mentioned about a week ago that her power involved superhuman timing, so if my guess was right—and I was fairly sure that it was, since I'd just tested it—Vista was folding and unfolding space at regular intervals, and Flechette could pick up on and take advantage of the pattern without having to communicate with her at all.

This was about the point, if we'd been in a serious fight, that I would have switched to the higher setting and shot Flechette as many times as I could, before she realized that I'd figured them out.

Instead, I left my gun on 'featherblow,' as Kid Win had called it, and shouted out to him, "Shoot when Flechette does!" _Then_ I shot at Flechette as many times as I could.

Kid Win took my advice immediately, though he was still barely managing to hit with one blast out of every three. The window of opportunity Vista had created was small enough that only Flechette seemed able to take proper advantage of it. I did my best to help, but my aim was a bit spotty even without all the spatial warping and before long I had to turn all my focus on Clockblocker.

He had slid around me with Vista's help, and was now approaching Weld. Our leader was fortunately not stuck to the floor any longer, and could slide out of Clockblocker's way and back toward where I was. The problem with that was that Vista had started to contract the distance between the two of them, and Weld was having a hard time avoiding him.

I rushed to his defense, using a smattering of shots to push Clockblocker off-balance. The light on my gauntlet turned red, and I fought the urge to curse. I'd been rapid-firing for a few minutes straight, and must have done a number on the battery. Then again—better to find out its limits _now_ than later.

Regardless, it was obvious that I'd have to engage Clockblocker close-quarters if I wanted to take him down. I wasn't looking forward to closing the distance, though. It would be difficult to avoid his power _and_ be carful not to hit him too hard at the same time. My short ranged attacks could get a bit more lethal than a training exercise really warranted, and making sure I was pulling my punches was more important than not getting tagged.

Before I could finish running up to him, Flechette managed to plant another dart through Weld's heel. He stumbled, and Clockblocker leapt forward and tagged his arm. I grimaced—two against three was looking like very unattractive odds at the moment.

Not only that, but Kid Win and I had ended up separated by a vast gulf of wooden flooring. It occurred to me at about that point that, in a fight against Vista, all the clever maneuvering in the world might not make up for the sheer amount of battlefield control she possessed.

Still, I'd certainly try. I sprinted toward Clockblocker, and Vista actually helped me get there. That wasn't an encouraging sign, but I didn't see what else I'd be able to accomplish in this fight. Flechette was practically untouchable from behind all the spatial distortion in that area, but she'd have trouble pinning down me or Kid Win without hurting us. That meant Clockblocker was now the other team's main offense.

Kid Win did his best to help from across nearly a football-field's worth of space, but now that Vista wasn't bothering to create those openings for Flechette, none of his shots really had a hope of getting anywhere.

I approached Clockblocker, already more or less resigned to a loss. I'd fought him like this before, at Arcadia, and the only reason he hadn't tagged me was that I'd hurt his arm. I bit my lip at that, still feeling guilty—and he finally closed the rest of the distance. His hand headed right for center mass, which made it hard to dodge out of the way. I ended up doing an honest-to-god _cartwheel_ to get away from him, which was so absurd that I couldn't help but laugh.

Springing to my feet, I dodged around another two of his attacks, and emptied the rest of the charge in my gun into his back. He reeled, and I tried to catch his arm by the shoulder. He twisted like a snake, and the last thing I saw was his hand heading right for my visor.

I came to again, presumably a few minutes later, with a wave of disorientation that made me topple over where I stood. Somewhere above me, I recognized Clockblocker's laugh. He reached down to give me a hand up, and I glared at him suspiciously.

"Is the fight over?" I asked.

"Yep," he said, and I finally took his hand and let him try to pull me to my feet. He lurched where he stood, and nearly fell over on top of me. I lifted up my visor so that I could smirk at him.

"Wow, that stuff is heavy," he huffed, letting go and straightening up. I hopped to my feet and looked around.

"Where is everyone?"

"Lockers," he replied. "You took a bit longer to unfreeze than Weld, and they needed to get changed. So... yeah. Shall we head back?"

"Sure." I smiled at him—and, funnily enough, it felt a lot less forced now that we'd spent a few minutes beating one another up.

"Nice trick, by the way," he said, pulling off his faceplate. "If this cape stuff doesn't work out, you could join the circus."

"I don't think it's fair play to be wearing tinkertech," I pointed out. "And can you imagine someone trying to catch me on the trapeze with this thing on?"

He blinked, then burst out laughing. "I can," he said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, "and it's _awesome."_

We walked together back to the common room, separating temporarily so that he could stow his costume in the locker room and I could remove my armor. By the time we got back, the others were all settled comfortably on the couches. Missy looked up, then scooted over to give us both room.

"I think those teams need a little work," I said, grinning to show that I was joking. "We didn't stand a chance."

Weld rubbed at the back of his neck. "I didn't realize Missy could let Lily shoot through the space she'd bent."

"She didn't," I said. "She kept unfolding it periodically, so that Lily could pick up on the timing."

He perked up at that, looking enthusiastically between the two of them. "We'll have to remember that tactic," he decided.

"Oh, and I have an idea!" Dennis proclaimed, raising his hand as though he was in a classroom. "Next time we need a distraction, we can have Taylor do a gymnastics routine. They'll never see it coming!"

I gave him an odd look—mostly because he'd managed to keep such a straight face that I couldn't be sure he was kidding. It was weird, being on the other end of friendly teasing rather than... well, the sorts of things Emma would say. My mood took a bit of a dip at the comparison, but Dennis hadn't meant anything malicious by it. At least, he didn't act like he had.

The conversation moved on—Weld suggested we could talk about possible strategies to use against some of the villains still left in Brockton bay. Dennis groaned theatrically, and somehow managed to sidetrack the whole group with a debate about whether Alexandria could win against Legend in a fight.

I ended up dropping out of the conversation partway through, not because I was uncomfortable but because I had checked the clock, and it was nearly seven. I had about an hour to pick up the cybernetics, and get out of the building to install them.

Just as I was about to excuse myself, Chris went off on an animated tangent about Squealer's battleship, describing in enthusiastic detail the disorganized mess he'd found in the control room. I listened in horrified fascination for a few minutes, before glancing guiltily at the clock again.

"Okay, okay, I give up," Dennis was saying, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I have no idea what any of that means." He looked around, then perked up again.

"Wait!" he said. "I have an idea!"

"Don't hurt yourself," Missy told him, patting him on the shoulder.

"I think I have some video games in my room," he went on, ignoring the interruption. "I got them for Christmas last year and never got around to bringing them home."

"Can we play those here?" Lily asked, glancing around.

"Yeah, we've got some consoles under the TV," Chris said. "And the building has power, so..."

"Yes!" Dennis cheered. "Can't believe I didn't think of this before! Who's in?"

I took a last look at the clock, then at the group of Wards sitting around the couches. I smiled, and took a controller from Dennis, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

The upgrade could wait a few more hours.

* * *

 **Did... did I just write fluff? I feel funny...**

 **Ahem. Anyway, I do have something of an announcement: I changed up the way I've been writing these. Rather than doing an even amount of work every day, over all two weeks, I just kinda knocked the whole thing out over the weekend and edited during the week. This means that, assuming I don't burn myself out which I don't _think_ I will... I can pick up the pace a bit. So! Starting next Sunday, I'm updating this thing weekly.**


	35. Suspicious as Hell

**Suspicious as Hell**

* * *

Not even three hours after the mock battle, I was already jumping off a roof.

Wind rushed past me as I hit the apex of my leap, and then I was falling feet-first onto the street below. My armor absorbed most of the impact, and the rest dissipated as I tucked into a roll and came up in a dead sprint. I cackled like a madwoman into my mic and tore down the street ahead of me.

Far above, Kid Win was keeping to the tops of buildings. His hoverboard let him cut across gaps and move in more of a straight line than I was capable of, and his steady speed made it hard to keep up with him on the ground. Because of this we had, of course, made the perfectly reasonable decision to travel by rooftop. I would set the pace, and we could keep a lookout for trouble from a better vantage point.

That had broken down around when I started pushing myself to move faster—mostly because I was curious to see what Kid Win's top speed was. From there, the patrol had devolved into a race.

Weld, who wasn't totally sure what was happening, seemed a bit anxious. "Aurora?" he said, voice crackling over the comms. "Kid Win? What are you doing?"

"Just testing my speed," I replied, leaping several feet into the air and grabbing hold of a rusty fire escape. Hauling myself up, I was soon standing on top of a two-story building. Kid Win had gotten ahead of me while I was climbing.

Of course, I didn't _need_ to be on the roof. Running along the ground would be faster and easier.

I took another running jump, and this time I managed a sloppy three-point landing on the next building over. Hopping upright again, I bolted to the other side and vaulted out into open air.

I didn't _need_ to do any of it, but it was _fun._

"Right," Weld sighed over the mic. "You have five minutes. Then, it's back to actual _patrolling."_

That was tantamount to permission, in my mind. Grinning ear-to-ear, I did my best to gain some height by making another jump across a narrow alley, this one almost entirely vertical. I caught the ledge of the next building with just the tips of my fingers—but it was enough to pull myself the rest of the way. Kid Win drifted a little further into the distance, but that was alright. I could see the route I needed to take, now. In the past few minutes, I'd learned that a lot of the trick to roof-hopping was in planning out where you wanted to go, and finding a line of buildings of roughly equal height.

Or, you could have a hoverboard. But that, in my mind, was cheating.

The next series of rooftops were a blur, each one passing by with a clash of metal on concrete and a sudden rush of weightlessness—followed by a roll or a short pull-up, depending on the height difference. I did my best not to burst out laughing again, because I didn't want to test Weld's patience too much.

Still riding the sudden rush of a recent landing, I hopped up on a short wall at the edge of one rooftop and jetted out into empty space. The next ledge came up in front of me, I grabbed at it—and slipped loose.

"Shit!" I yelped, more out of reflex than anything, before coming crashing down to the ground a second later. I managed to wrap both arms around my helmet, but my knees hit concrete with a nasty _crack_ that I felt even through my armor.

"What happened?" Weld demanded sharply.

"I'm fine," I managed, lurching to my feet and inspecting myself. There were a few scratches in the most recent paint job, even revealing a bit of blue in one spot, but I could barely feel any buzzing. "Just slipped and fell."

"That didn't sound like a minor slip," Weld insisted.

"I might have been on a roof," I admitted, rubbing at the back of my neck. My gauntlet bounced against my helmet, and I was left feeling a little sheepish about the whole gesture.

"You fell off a _roof?"_ It was hard to suppress a wince as his half-shout crackled over the mics.

"I'm durable," I insisted.

Weld stayed silent for a moment, then made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "Fine," he grunted. "But from now on you stay with Kid Win and you move at a reasonable pace, understand? I can deal with you letting off some steam by running, but goofing around and falling off buildings isn't okay."

I flushed and muttered something affirmative, feeling chagrined. After that, it was a short jog to where Kid Win had stopped. I couldn't see his face through his visor, but I liked to imagine that he was a bit disappointed as well.

We trudged on in silence for a few minutes, before eventually settling into a rhythm. Kid Win would float above the street and scan our surroundings for any sign of trouble, while I would run ahead and keep my ears peeled for a disturbance. Apart from a pair of silhouettes that were probably selling something illegal—I could only say _probably,_ because the pair of them had melted away into the shadows the second we approached—we didn't find much of anything.

It was apparently an old motto of the Wards that, "The only good patrol is a boring one." Maybe I was being a bit of a hothead, but I couldn't help but feel... impatient. Stifled would probably be a better word. The free running had helped clear my thoughts, and I loved the simple feeling of sprinting full-tilt or fighting in my armor. Now I was heading in a straight line across a wide-open street, stopping only to investigate dark alleys and finding only trash and the occasional rat. It was dull.

I'd come to expect that from patrols, of course, but that didn't mean I couldn't still be grumpy about it.

The monotony was finally broken about half an hour later, when Kid Win said very suddenly into the comms, "I see someone! Aurora, to your left."

I turned, surprised that he'd bothered directing me if I wouldn't be able to see them from the street—but I _could._ There was a figure hovering above a nearby building, and I thought I might recognize their general shape.

"Glory Girl?" I called out, puzzled. It took a moment to climb up to her height, though there was thankfully a ladder up the side of one wall that I could use. She just floated there, looking for all the world as though she'd just gone out for a midnight flight. For all I knew, maybe she had _._

She seemed to notice me once I walked up to the edge of the roof, rotating around in midair until she was looking down at me. "Oh," she said. "It's you."

I blinked, not entirely sure if that had been an insult or just an observation. I'd had far more personal experience with the former.

"What are you doing up here?" I asked, leaning against an air-conditioning unit that sat in about the middle of the rooftop.

"Looking around." I couldn't see Glory Girl's expression that well from where I was, but I guessed she might be scowling.

Kid Win hovered over to us before I could ask her to explain that last remark, but I was fairly sure I already knew what—or rather _who—_ she was searching for.

"Hi," he called out, hopping off his hoverboard and landing neatly on the rooftop. Glory Girl floated down to us—somewhat reluctantly, it seemed to me—but didn't land. One of her legs was heavily bandaged, and I could see in the dim light from the nearby streetlamp that her face was much thinner and paler than I remembered.

"How are you?" Kid Win asked, shifting uneasily where he stood. It was probably the thunderous expression she wore that was making him nervous—that, or the faint undercurrent of unease that was literally radiating from her. She didn't answer the question, maybe because it was clearly written all over her face.

"Any luck with Amy?" He pressed on, fidgeting even more when her scowl somehow managed to deepen. Then, all of a sudden, she seemed to relent.

"No," she admitted, sagging a bit where she floated. "I called, just to see if she was okay, but she didn't pick up."

I winced, and cast around for an excuse to talk about something else. It was an uncomfortable enough subject to start with, and when you added on the fact that I'd been with Harrison when he'd pointed a _gun_ at the girl in question... I really didn't feel like I had any business asking her about it.

Fortunately for me, I didn't have to—Glory Girl didn't seem to want anything to do with us. She drifted upward again, just out of convenient conversation range, and made a show of scanning our surroundings. I suspected this was mostly to avoid talking, because I started doing the same thing a moment later.

It turned out to be a useful tactic—but could potentially backfire if there was actually something going on. Before Kid Win and I could part ways with Glory Girl, she seemed to sit up in mid-air—which was a weird thing to watch—and pointed out into the distance.

"Do you see that?" she asked. It was a question I really wanted to say _no_ to. I'd been itching for something to do earlier, but didn't really want to go along with Glory Girl. I didn't have anything against her personally, but that was part of the problem—I'd threatened her, then weeks later attacked Scrub to buy her time, and I had no idea if that made us even or not. It was hard to tell where we stood. That, and the last time I'd fought with her, things hadn't exactly gone that well.

Still, I obligingly followed the direction of her finger toward a warehouse across the street. Even as I watched, a group of shadowy figures began skulking around its outskirts, slowly sidling their way through a side-door and into the building. Another person was standing in the darkened doorway, possibly guarding the warehouse's interior. I couldn't make out very much, but just about everything I _could_ was suspicious as hell.

The three of us made our way back to street level as silently as possible, though I was the only one who actually had to climb. Kid Win and Glory Girl both just descended smoothly and without incident, each coming to a halt several inches off the ground.

"Just met up with Glory Girl," Kid Win murmured into the comms. "She saw something suspicious going on at a warehouse... um, on the corner of Alder and 23rd. Permission to investigate?"

"Go for it," Weld told us. "But be careful, and do _not_ engage them for _any reason_ until I tell you to. And tell Glory Girl to stay back until you know what you're dealing with."

"Got it," Kid Win replied, nodding affirmatively despite the fact that Weld had no way of seeing him.

"Let's go," I said, and cast a meaningful look at Glory Girl. "Don't rush in."

Her jaw tightened, but she managed a terse, "I won't," and that was enough for me. It wasn't like I had much room to criticize her on that front.

We made surprisingly stealthy progress toward the not-so-abandoned warehouse, considering the fact that two of us were covered head to toe in metal and the third was Glory Girl, one of the most conspicuous people I'd ever met. By the time we were within a couple blocks of the place, we were starting to see a few men and women who looked suspiciously like they were standing guard around our target.

We decided not to try to navigate the narrow alleys and twisted side-streets leading up to the warehouse, any of which might be watched by one of the gang members—at least, I assumed the shady-looking individuals with no obvious parahuman abilities were gang members. Instead, we went by way of the unguarded rooftops, with Glory Girl giving me lifts across short distances so that I wouldn't make any noise.

It didn't take long to make our way to the roof of the warehouse itself, though we had to be careful to approach from an odd angle where we were fairly sure none of the nearby thugs would notice us. There was a small window that we were able to crouch beside to peer into the room below.

Honestly, the first thought that popped into my head was that the whole thing was a bit underwhelming. I wasn't sure what I expected, but all I could see were several stacks of unassuming wooden crates, and a few shadowy groups of people that might have been sitting down. Glancing around the outside of the building, I noticed several trucks idling out front, and a few thugs that were unloading more crates.

I stole a glance at Kid Win and Glory Girl. The former was staring down into the warehouse, while the latter was glowering through the window as though the room inside had personally offended her. I reached out and grabbed her forearm, doing my best to glare at her through my visor.

To my surprise, she turned away and looked out over the city, taking a few deep breaths—and stayed still. Somewhat reassured, I snuck another peek into the room and did my best to try and understand what exactly was going on.

A figure near the middle of the room seemed to be talking to several of the others, and judging by the animated gestures they were making, they were fairly agitated. Beyond that, I had no idea what they were doing.

"We need to get closer," I whispered.

Kid Win shook his head and murmured back, "Wait." Then, he said softly over the comms, "It looks like one of the gangs. We need backup."

"Got it," Weld answered. "We're on our way, should be there in fifteen minutes or so."

I grimaced at the long wait—the roads had gotten a lot better since Leviathan, but it was still hard to expect anything approaching a decent response time.

"Should we try to listen in?" I asked. "See what they're doing?"

There was a pause, as Weld seemed to consider it. "I'm getting Miss Militia on the line," he decided. "I don't want to land you guys in a fight with a whole warehouse full of Merchants, or whatever gang this is."

The thought of fighting off the Merchants would have been far more intimidating before our last encounter with them, considering the PRT had captured their entire leadership and Scrub. Still, even regular thugs could be a problem if there were enough of them.

"What's going on?" Glory Girl whispered, making me jump slightly.

"Weld's getting us in contact with Miss Militia," Kid Win supplied. "We need backup if we're going to fight this many." To my surprise, she nodded in agreement and took another look into the warehouse.

It only took a moment for us to hear Miss Militia's voice over the comms. "Weld explained the basics," she said immediately. "Where are you, now?"

"On the roof," Kid Win answered, edging forward slightly so that he could get a better view through the window.

"None of you have any stranger abilities, correct?" Miss Militia continued on briskly, likely more as a formality than an actual question. I hummed assent anyway. "And no enhanced senses." She paused, obviously considering the problem.

Glory Girl, who couldn't hear any of this, fidgeted impatiently. I glanced over at her, watching as she picked at one of the roof tiles in an attempt to occupy herself. Her bad leg was stretched out behind her, still covered in bandages. It struck me how fresh the injury still looked. Had she even been discharged, or had she just busted out of the hospital?

Kid Win, meanwhile, was raising a finger and mouthing something, probably trying to count the thugs in the room below us. I didn't really see the point—we couldn't see that well with how dark it was in there. There weren't many, though, probably not more than a couple dozen as far as I could tell.

Finally, Miss Militia began speaking decisively. "You should stay together," she told us, "and at the first sign of trouble, you fly out of there. Can Glory Girl handle Aurora's weight?" I passed on the question, and Glory Girl nodded.

 _Would I be able to make wings?_ I wondered for a moment, before discarding the idea. My armor was far too heavy for that. _But the cybernetics..._

"We're on our way," Miss Militia continued, interrupting the train of thought. "If—and _only_ if—you can find a place to listen in without anyone seeing you, try to find out what they're doing in there."

I was all too eager to obey. I'd already been itching to find out what was going on, and now we had been given permission to sneak closer and find out. After quickly catching up Glory Girl on what Miss Militia had said, the three of us walked carefully—or floated—to the edge of the building. A quick glance around revealed a small corner next to a dumpster and, hidden in the shadows, a window that looked to be just large enough for us to fit through.

We dropped down, with Glory Girl holding me up so that I didn't free-fall several stories and hit the ground with a crash loud enough to wake the dead. I reached up to put a hand on the window, pushing at it a little. It was locked, and the glass was so scratched and murky that I couldn't see a thing. Pressing my helmet to the pane didn't help, and I wondered if maybe I should prioritize augmented hearing, next.

"I can't tell what's going on," I murmured, just loudly enough that Glory Girl would be able to hear me through my visor. As if in answer she put a hand on the frame, and, before I could stop her, pushed. There was a distinct metallic-sounding _snap_ as something in the inner mechanism gave way. Then, the window opened inward.

I tensed, half expecting a crowd of thugs to burst out of the warehouse howling for our blood. Instead, inside was a small room full of stacks of loose paper and filing cabinets.

We climbed carefully into the office, stopping in front of an unassuming door that led further into the warehouse. Glory Girl reached for that one as well, but I put up an arm to stop her.

"Not until we're sure there isn't anyone on the other side," I hissed. We'd been insanely lucky that this room had been here—if that window had led directly into the warehouse, we probably would have been spotted.

"How are we supposed to tell?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. I sighed.

"I don't know," I said, "but we can't just waltz into a room that might be full of criminals."

"Guys," Kid Win whispered, cutting through our hushed argument. He pointed up to the ceiling, at a fair-sized air vent.

"We're not going in there," I decided, almost instantaneously.

"What, afraid of some dust?" Glory Girl asked in disbelief.

"No, but if Kid Win or I try to crawl through that, we're going to make a ton of noise."

Kid Win nodded, but turned to look at Glory Girl and asked, "Could you float along it?" Her eye twitched slightly, but she nodded. He bounced a little on his heels, and I could almost imagine the victorious grin he was hiding behind his visor.

Scowling, Glory Girl drifted up to the ceiling, removing the vent cover as gently as she could—still making enough noise that I flinched—and disappeared. I grimaced, realizing suddenly that she had no way to communicate with us while she was in there. Still, there wasn't much we could do about that, except maybe give her one of our helmets—and then we'd be wandering around a hostile warehouse without a mask.

"Wards." Miss Militia's voice returned over our headsets, and the pair of us instinctively snapped to attention. "What's going on?"

"We're in the building, in a small office I think," Kid Win answered. "There was an unguarded window."

"Glory Girl is in the vents, trying to find out if there's anyone on the other side of the door." As I spoke, I began poking around the room, opening a nearby metal cabinet at random. It was locked, but the small padlock gave easily when I pulled on it. Inside lay a small heap of what looked like high-end guns of varying sizes. Kid Win sucked in a breath at the sight of them.

"There are weapons, too high-end for Merchants," he whispered into the comms.

"Do _not_ engage them, then," Miss Militia ordered. "Certainly not until backup arrives. It's likely to be the Empire, since the ABB have been forced out of most of their old territory."

I bit my lip. None of the Empire capes were quite as viscerally frightening to me as Scrub, but that was only because I'd just fought him. Off the top of my head, I knew that Fog at the very least would be able to ignore my defenses completely, since my helmet wasn't airtight.

Kid Win and I waited a moment in tense silence, waiting for Glory Girl to come back. With each second, it seemed more and more certain that something had happened, that she'd been caught, that she'd seen something and flown off to fight them on her own.

Then, there was a quiet shuffling noise from inside the vent, and Glory Girl emerged feet-first, still somehow immaculately clean. She righted herself and began hovering roughly halfway between floor and ceiling.

"There was a grate in the vent I couldn't get past without making a ton of noise," she said, "but I didn't hear anything outside." Kid Win relayed all this to Miss Militia.

"We'll be here in ten," she told us. "Just stay where you are."

Even as the words left her mouth, I heard a slight shuffling from outside. Tensing, I turned toward the door—and the handle turned. Kid Win and I crept forward, while Glory Girl moved above us to flatten herself against the ceiling.

The door creaked open, revealing a thickset man somewhere in his forties. He had a cigarette in one hand, and a bored expression on his face. The second he saw us, his eyes widened almost comically as he opened his mouth to shout—and Glory Girl fell on him like a sack of bricks. He grunted as she kneed him in the back of the head, and fell directly into me.

I twisted him around so that I could wrap an arm around his chest and clamp my other hand over his mouth. He squirmed and kicked at me, but it was easy to tell that he didn't have any kind of brute power—though I supposed the fact that he was still conscious after Glory Girl hit him was impressive.

"One of the gang members walked in," I reported. "I've got him, but—" The thug interrupted me by headbutting my visor. I reeled back, more out of surprise than anything else, and tightened my hold on his chest. He tried to step on my foot.

"Are you okay?" Kid Win asked, stepping forward as if to help restrain him.

"I got him," I assured him. "But we need to figure out what to do with him."

"Maybe he knows what they're doing in there," suggested Kid Win, but I shook my head.

"We can't afford to let him talk, he'll just call for the others."

"What about just knocking him out?" suggested Glory Girl, and Kid Win relayed the suggestion through the comms.

"No," Miss Militia said bluntly. "At least, not by _hitting_ him." She sighed. "You have cuffs, don't you?"

"It's not really him attacking us that I'm worried about," I replied. The thug elbowed me in the ribs and shouted a thankfully very muffled curse into my hand as it bounced off solid metal. He'd probably hit his funny bone.

Eventually, I managed to shift him around so that I was holding both his arms in one hand, then angled myself so that Kid Win could cuff him. He was a bit more manageable after that, and I finally resorted to shoving a wad of paper into his mouth. The man tried to raise the alarm again, but seemed to be quieted enough by the makeshift gag.

The door was still open, and I couldn't resist poking my head out before I closed it. I was met with what must have been the main room—the ceiling arched high overhead, but the rest of my view was blocked by a solid wall of wooden crates.

"I think we could see what's going on through here," I whispered to the other two. "There are a ton of boxes to hide behind."

We crept forward, slowly assessing our cover. It wasn't much, just a heap of crates, but it continued a long way to our left and stopped in a solid wall to our right, meaning we were hemmed in on three sides. I moved to the edge of the pile, and peered out with my head just inches above the ground.

It wasn't what I'd expected. I'd always imagined an Empire warehouse would be full of gang members with shaved heads, standing to attention in doorways. What I saw looked more like a group of squatters—there were blankets spread out on the floor, people sitting around and eating in their own little camps. If it weren't for the guns and spiked armor they were wearing, I would have thought we'd stumbled on a makeshift shelter, not a gang.

Then, my eyes fell on a cluster of people standing near the center of the room. There were three of them, but only one really drew my attention. She—judging by the long hair, anyway—wore stylized armor that reminded me a bit of samurai costumes, trimmed with long and wicked-looking blades. A ring of skulls hung from her shoulders, looking eerily lifelike from this distance, and I could just make out some kind of case slung across her back. In her hand was what looked like a Gatling gun.

I didn't recognize her, but one thing was obvious—she wasn't with the Empire. The whole style of her costume was completely unfamiliar, so I didn't think she was one of their established members, and she stood with an air of authority that a new recruit wouldn't have.

"It's not the Empire," Kid Win breathed into his mic, presumably to tip off Miss Militia.

"Who are they, then?" Glory Girl whispered back.

The second the words left her mouth, the woman with the skulls froze. My heart rose up into my mouth as she turned and stared _directly at us,_ with no regard for the wall of crates in the way. Opening the case on her back, she removed a set of metal rods. In barely half a second she had unfolded them, revealing a massive bow that looked like it was longer than she was tall. Slowly, deliberately, she reached down and formed an arrow from the concrete floor.

"Come out," she called to us, The rest of her gang—because everything in her posture told me that they were definitely _hers—_ were still looking around wildly, apparently confused.

"They see us," I yelped into the comms, raising myself into a crouch as the strange cape shot at us. I was still behind the wall, under cover—but her arrow slammed into me dead-center, burying itself in the middle of my breastplate and _quivering._

"Run!" Kid Win shouted, as the rest of the gang began charging at us. There seemed to be more of them than before, _many_ more—they teemed in the hundreds, howling as they charged toward us—and almost all of them wore the same exact costume.

All of a sudden, it clicked. I'd read about these two powers when I'd first gotten my own, and both the perfect accuracy and the hordes of clones together were ringing a very unpleasant bell. I stumbled backward, groping blindly for the door and flinching as another arrow curved through the air and embedded itself in my armor.

"It's the Teeth!" I shouted, and bolted into the room we'd just passed through. The window was still open, and I whirled around to block the doorway as Kid Win and Glory Girl rushed in behind me. My mind raced, trying to remember what I'd read about them. I did _not_ want to kill the Butcher, and there was the other one that made clones, but I couldn't _think..._

"Go, go, go!" I told the other two, gesturing at the window. Kid Win vaulted through without a second thought, landing somewhere outside. Another arrow punched through the wall and stuck in my arm, and I grimaced. Could the Butcher choose targets? Would she be able to aim at my visor, specifically?

Determined not to find out, I climbed after Glory Girl as she flew out into the open sky. As I went, she twisted around midair and hauled me up by the wrist. Kid Win, too, was hovering far above the ground.

Soon, the warehouse began to shrink beneath us, and for an instant I almost thought we might be able to escape.

Then, the Butcher strode out through the main doors, and looked up at us. She was close enough that I could actually see her eyes. They were pitch dark, boring into me. She knocked another arrow, then released.

As she watched it slam into the underside of Kid Win's hoverboard, I thought I could see a cold smile stretching across her face.

* * *

 **Note to self: Avoid googling 'Teeth' and 'Worm' together. Suffice it to say that medieval medicine had some horrifying theories about toothaches and I did _not_ want that mental image in my head.**


	36. As My Legs Shook

**As My Legs Shook**

* * *

 **Okay, so tomorrow is Easter Sunday... and is also probably going to be a bit batshit crazy, since I'm going out to see family that lives kinda far away. In the interest of not getting up even earlier than I already have to tomorrow morning to post this, here's the chapter a day early. Next one will (probably) be on Sunday again as usual.**

* * *

Kid Win went down with a shower of sparks and a surprised shout. His hoverboard tumbled end over end beside him as he began to plummet, until Glory Girl sped over and managed to snag his armor in one hand. It was a narrow save—her dive brought her so close to the ground that I had to bend my knees to keep my toes from skimming along the pavement.

She kept going, shooting away from the warehouse as fast as she could. There was a flash of fire as the Butcher followed behind us, and I thought I could hear the sound of something big running along the road. I risked a glance, and saw a massive wolf-like animal bounding toward us. For a moment, I almost thought it was one of Bitch's hounds—until it reared back its head and _screamed._

Glory Girl cried out and twisted in midair, before dropping right out of the sky. I panicked for a second, mind reeling. A wave of dizziness kept me from reacting until I slammed feet-first into the street hard enough to crack the pavement. I ended up on my stomach, just before something heavy landed on my back with a dull _thump._

"What..." I groaned, stunned. I shook my head from side to side, momentarily overwhelmed by a sudden sense of loss, of searching for something that had been snatched right out from under me.

It took the Butcher appearing in a small tornado of fire for me to start thinking again. I tried to get up, and accidentally dumped Glory Girl from where she'd fallen on top of me. She managed to cushion her head as she landed, looking dazed.

"Aurora!" Kid Win shouted into the comms. "It's a trump!"

The connection only took an instant. Glory Girl had fallen out of the sky—odds were her shield wasn't working either. I jumped in front of her, all too aware of how meaningless that was in the face of an opponent with perfect aim, and put my hands in the air.

"We don't want a fight," I said, more to buy time than because I expected her to listen to reason.

The Butcher seemed to think it was funny. She smirked and said, "I know." Then, she drew another arrow.

"You think I'm afraid of you?" I blurted, running on more or less the same strategy I'd used during the Noelle fight—piss her off and hope I could take the hits, because Glory Girl certainly couldn't.

To my complete surprise, it _worked._ She turned to point her bow at me, and I did my best to shield my visor with both arms—but she hadn't been aiming for my face. The arrow struck just under my breastplate, in the relatively soft mesh over my stomach. I grunted and doubled over, pins and needles spreading through my abdomen—but I couldn't feel any blood.

"Aurora!" Kid Win shouted, sprinting over to us and firing half a dozen blasts at the Butcher. She disappeared, only to erupt into being not two feet behind him, bathing him in flames. He cried out and stumbled back, only to be blindsided when she did it _again._

"Fuck!" I swore, hovering in front of Glory Girl and torn between protecting her and running off to help Kid Win. Ultimately, he had armor and she didn't, at least not at the moment. "How close are you guys?"

"Two minutes," Miss Militia said tersely. She went on to tell me something else, but I'd stopped paying attention. I could see the wolf thing loping toward us, and behind it another two capes leading a fair-sized army of what had to be the clones.

Leaning down, I tried to haul Glory Girl to her feet. Her bad leg buckled almost immediately, but she managed to grab my shoulder and keep herself upright, so I assumed she was at least conscious. Hauling her up onto my shoulder, I took off in a dead sprint along the road. Kid Win tried to follow, but cut off running and went down with a sharp scream.

I glanced over my shoulder and found him crumpled on the ground, with the Butcher standing over him. Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, I bolted to a nearby alley and unceremoniously dumped Glory Girl onto the ground. With any luck, she'd recover from whatever the bestial cape had done before the Butcher got this far. Without it, there wasn't much I could do.

"Kid!" I called out, as I tore back along the road. "Hang on!"

He groaned in response, and as I rushed toward him he managed to roll himself onto his back and start firing at the Butcher's face. I took his cue and switched my own blaster as high as it would go. Instead of aiming at her, since I assumed she would just teleport out of the way, I shot at the monster cape. It took three shots to the face, but shrugged them off with no more than a frustrated roar.

I made it to Kid Win before it did, barely. Sliding to a stop next to him, I noticed that he was panting heavily and starting to heave himself to his feet. The Butcher disappeared, and I swung wildly at the empty space around me, guessing she'd reappear close enough to hit us with the fire blast.

She didn't disappoint. My left gauntlet clipped her shoulder, and sent her spinning off-balance. The woman snarled, and stretched out a hand toward me. A violent buzzing shot up my spine, curling through my veins like a living thing, but I didn't flinch—instead, I lashed out at her face. She disappeared again before my punch could connect.

"We're approaching the warehouse now," Miss Militia announced into my headset. "Where are you?"

"Out back," I shouted desperately. "We're... fuck, to the west of it I think."

"Try to stay calm," Weld advised.

"Like _hell!"_ I snapped, as another arrow buried itself into the mesh at my right elbow. This time I thought I could feel an actual cut, though I had no way of knowing how deep it was.

Kid Win, meanwhile, had managed to find his feet. He was facing the trump, letting off blast after blast in an attempt to keep the thing off its feet. It howled again, and I reeled in place.

The Butcher darted in the second I was distracted, jabbing me in the shoulder hard enough to spin me around. There was another flare of tingling that soon sharpened to a constant buzz in the back of my mind. I had no idea what was going on with the injury, but I flailed blindly in an attempt to get her away from me so that she couldn't do it again. She blocked my arm, actually _catching_ it in her own and shoving me off balance. Her fist collided with my side, sending me crashing to the ground with a yelp.

It was then that I realized she was stronger than me. Actually, physically stronger—that hadn't happened since Noelle. I grimaced, getting unsteadily to my feet and lowering myself into something like a fighting stance. She just smirked—apparently she knew what a real one looked like, and I hadn't even come close. Her foot lashed out, catching the side of my helmet with speed I wouldn't have believed. I overbalanced, and landed on my back _again._

I tried shooting at her, but this time she didn't even bother to teleport. The blast went too far wide, and she slid easily out of the way. My injured elbow started to ache, _really_ ache, and for a moment I was nearly overwhelmed by panic. What the hell did she _do,_ that it hurt enough to override my armor?

Slowly, unsteadily, I stood up again. I was starting to understand the general rhythm of her attacks, or at least I thought I was—she would throw punches and kicks, probably because her arrows hadn't done enough damage on their own. I glanced down, and verified that _yes,_ she _had_ dented my armor with every hand-to-hand attack.

Guessing she was going to come at me again, I backed up rapidly and swung at her to keep her away from me. Somewhere behind the Butcher, I heard a sharp hiss and an explosion that nearly knocked me off my feet. She turned, fists tightening.

I lunged at her, trying to take advantage of the opening, but she just blocked my swing contemptuously. Her hand waved in a lazy circle, and for a moment my whole world whited out.

When I could process my surroundings again, I turned my head to stare at the Butcher and let out a feral scream. This monster had _hit_ me. She was going to _die._

She interrupted the attack with another arrow, this one hitting a chink in my armor near the knee. Then she stepped in close, dodging around a swing that would have hit her right in the teeth. She pulled a massive-looking gun from over her shoulder, giving me all of half a second to reel back in surprise before she emptied at least a dozen bullets into the vulnerable spot on my stomach. Then, her elbow came down hard on my back and sent me spilling onto the street.

I groaned, dazed, but thankfully returned to sanity. The bullets hadn't pierced through—at least, if they _had_ I probably wouldn't be alive to notice. I lifted my head enough to see that the Wards were running toward us, along with what was left of the Protectorate. Miss Militia in particular stood out, wading through the sea of clones and mowing them down as she went. They were still several hundred yards away, and soon slowed in their approach.

"Over here!" Kid Win yelled, narrowly dodging a swipe from the monstrous cape. It opened its mouth to scream again, but he stepped right up close and sent a blast right down its throat.

The Butcher whirled around, bringing her gun with her. I swiped at her ankles, hoping to trip her up at least, but missed. Miss Militia turned and bolted away from us, using the horde of clones as living shields as she went—too _slow._ Then, a sharp crack sounded from somewhere in the press, and the Butcher vanished before she could start shooting.

I heaved myself to my feet, slowly and unsteadily, feeling a bit like I'd just been fed through a woodchipper. My elbow was, if anything, _worse_ than it had been when her arrow had first hit me.

Stumbling forward, I ran toward where Kid Win was doing his best to handle the wolf thing. It was still on the back foot, howling at him with no effect. Well, not _no_ effect—he stumbled and flinched every time, but kept fighting.

Halfway there, the Butcher burst into being on a rooftop. Her gun had been holstered again, and she was drawing back her massive bow. I sucked in a breath, trying to see where she was aiming. Then, Kid Win stumbled and fell.

"Kid!" I screamed, rushing over to him and doing my best to block the monstrous cape. He groaned and sat up, clutching his shoulder. An arrow was buried in between two plates of his armor, and I could see that he was bleeding.

Nearby, Assault and Battery were engaging two more of the Teeth, though I didn't know who they were. One looked to be completely _drenched_ in blood, though it was hardening into scabs that acted almost like armor. The other just seemed to be standing there, though I couldn't tell what their power was.

The rest of the Wards had backed up to a nearby intersection. The horde of clones was charging toward them, but Clockblocker must have put up a piece of string or something, because they were dying in droves as they approached. Obviously they weren't very bright, as they just kept going heedless of the danger, only to be neatly bisected by their own momentum.

As I watched, Weld began wading through the press. An arrow soon embedded itself in his left eye, but he barely even winced. The Butcher turned shot a third time—but her arrow ran itself into the ground, well before it would have hit any sort of target. _Vista._

In response, the Butcher teleported twice, each time moving closer to the Wards. Panic closed up my throat for a moment, until Miss Militia emerged from the horde of clones and began shooting what looked a lot like the same gun the Butcher herself had been using.

It seemed to get her attention. She half-turned, momentarily distracted, before teleporting again. This time, there were too many clones between her and Miss Militia for the latter to get a decent shot.

"Clockblocker!" Flechette cried out. The arrow curved toward them, around Spree's army and directly toward Vista. It impacted dead center—and shattered harmlessly.

I nearly collapsed, gasping with relief, but was forced to put up a hand and turn my attention to the wolf thing again. It bit down hard on my arm, to very little effect.

Glancing around, I realized that the spatial warping had disappeared—Vista's power wasn't working. I frowned, trying to figure out what had just happened.

 _Clockblocker._ Flechette had called his name as soon as they realized who the Butcher was aiming for. He must have frozen her, to stop the arrow. I cursed under my breath—she'd be out of commission for at least the next thirty seconds, and when his power wore off the Butcher could just fire again. Not to mention, if Clockblocker were forced to freeze his own armor she and Flechette would go back to being sitting ducks.

"Aurora," Weld said over the comms. "You're armor stands up to those arrows, doesn't it? We need to get her to focus her fire on us."

"How?!" I demanded, shoving the monstrous cape back a few paces and backhanding its jaw. There was a telling silence on his end of the line.

"She's too mobile," Miss Militia snarled. I couldn't see her from where I was, but there was a large disturbance near the edge of the clones that I guessed had something to do with her.

Even as we spoke, the Butcher was drawing back her bow. It was inexorable, the string moving back and back, and the body of the weapon drifting from side to side as she chose her next target.

"Flechette," Weld ordered, as he continued shouldering through the press of clones toward where the Butcher stood. "I need you to stay close by Clockblocker, enough that he can freeze you even if he locks his armor."

"Got it!"

"I have to get closer," he grunted. "I think I'd be immune to at least a few of her powers."

"Me too," I replied. "I mean, not _immune,_ but it's close enough." My elbow still throbbed, though it seemed to have stopped getting worse for the moment. It was bad enough already, stiff and hard to move. Still, I gritted my teeth and raised my hand, shooting another dozen or so times at the Butcher. I couldn't remember exactly how long the gun had held out before, but I'd spent at least a few minutes rapid-firing, so—

The light went red.

"Oh, come on!" I snarled, ceasing fire. I'd already done what I needed to—the Butcher had been forced to teleport again, to keep from being knocked off-balance, and I'd even managed to knock the arrow away from her. That gave Flechette enough time to line up a shot of her own. The second her arbalest drifted in the Butcher's direction, she teleported again.

Why had the gun run out of charge so fast? Well, not run _out,_ it still had a little battery left before the light would switch off entirely. Maybe it hadn't finished charging since our spar? But Kid Win had told me that a half-hour or so should be enough.

 _It's the settings,_ I realized. I'd been using the more intense version of the blasts, and it had taken its toll on the battery life. I contemplated switching to the lower setting, but ultimately abandoned the idea. My shots were barely doing anything to the Butcher as it was, in all likelihood if I toned down the power she'd just ignore them entirely. But...

The Butcher appeared on another nearby rooftop, and I fired off another few blasts, flicking the switch back and forth. She couldn't ignore all the blasts, not when some of them could actually knock her off balance keep her from firing. Instead, she was forced to move again, though this time I couldn't see where she'd gone. Flechette could, though, and raised her arbalest again.

Another round of teleports later, and the Butcher crouched behind a nearby building, not twenty feet away from me. I tensed, but realized with a shock that she wasn't paying me any mind at all. Maybe she'd decided I wasn't a threat, after our fight earlier. But then, who—

"Clock!" I shouted. "Freeze Flechette!"

The Butcher fired again, and I heard a yelp over the comms. "She's okay!" Clockblocker reported, voice a bit shaky. "I'm freezing my costume, Flechette's hand is on my wrist so I can't move anyway."

"I'm probably next," Miss Militia said, incredibly calmly considering the circumstances. "She knows she won't knock out our brutes in one shot, so—" There was a loud blast from the middle of the clones. "If you see her, call out her location. I should be able to disrupt her, even if I can't see her." I didn't bother asking how—mostly because I could see what looked like a small cannon poking out from behind a low wall where Miss Militia had taken shelter from all the clones.

"On top of that warehouse, behind the air conditioning unit," Assault grunted. A small silvery streak flew from behind the wall, twisting in midair, and a second later the structure crumpled in a flash of fire. How much of that was from whatever Miss Militia had shot and how much was the Butcher teleporting, I wasn't quite sure.

Then, a flash of fire rolled over me. I yelped, spinning around and finding that massive bow not even a yard away from my face. The Butcher wasn't looking at me, though. I leapt forward, trying to intercept her before she could get off the shot.

"She's right by Aurora," Kid Win shouted over the comms.

"A shield," Miss Militia snarled.

"This works out!" I realized suddenly. "If we keep forcing her to teleport near Weld and I, we can actually fight back."

I darted forward, attacking erratically. All I really needed to do was slap her arrow out of the way—and she didn't pull back quite fast enough to stop me. The Butcher growled, then pulled what looked like a small stone from her pocket and threw it. I covered my visor instinctively, but something still rammed home right between my fingers.

There was a loud _crack,_ and I found myself staring at a stone dart embedded in my visor. I had to go cross-eyed to even see it. Then, the Butcher disappeared in a flash of fire.

Yanking the dart away to clear my vision, I spun around to try and find where she'd gone. I couldn't see her, but a flash of movement down the street caught my eye. For a moment, I wondered if she'd decided to retreat—until I realized that there was someone flying towards us, just a few feet above the ground.

"Glory Girl's up," I called out.

"Butcher just showed up next to us!" Clock added. "It's safe to shoot, we're all frozen." Miss Militia turned and fired in their direction, and the Butcher disappeared in the resulting explosion. It wasn't long before Glory Girl caught up to the fight. She looked abnormally pale, but her face had a determined cast to it. Her leg, I noticed, was bleeding through the bandages.

The Butcher appeared again, this time between us and Kid Win. She was still turned toward the Protectorate, another arrow already forming in her hands. Glory Girl shot forward, presumably to ram into her from behind, but she twisted at the last second and vanished in a flash of fire.

When she appeared again, the only warning I got was a searing heat at my back. I moved to turn, but was stopped when her elbow slammed into the back of my neck and knocked me to the ground. I landed on my hands and knees, mechanical arms twitching and tensing as the control unit on my neck was jarred.

I pulled myself to my feet, and turned around just in time to see a glimmer of realization on the Butcher's face. Her hand came up, another stone resting in her palm. I tried to cover the control unit, but before I could even start to move she let fly.

The stone bounced off the back of my neck with a sharp _crack,_ hard enough to dent the casing and shatter the delicate system inside. Suddenly the full weight of my armor rested on my legs—the legs I'd been _so_ sure could wait until tomorrow to be augmented.

I crumpled bonelessly to the ground, my weakened visor cracking a little when my helmet hit the concrete. My left arm moved—it was the only part of me strong enough. I tried to push myself upright, with the rest of me twitching sluggishly. All I managed to do was roll onto my back. The Butcher was standing over me, an arrow knocked.

"Aurora!" Kid Win shouted, ignoring the monstrous cape for a moment and loosing a half-dozen shots in the Butcher's direction. It took the opportunity to rear on its hind legs and screech at Glory Girl as she tried to intercept the Butcher's aim. She went down in a tangle, landing next to me with a pained grunt.

Miss Militia abandoned her cover—it was more or less useless in this fight, anyway—and fired at the Butcher, this time with a much more precise rifle. She tensed, but didn't teleport. Instead she looked down, scowled, and tried to dodge. I stared, baffled, as a bullet tore through her shoulder and knocked her off-balance.

 _What?_ I thought. There'd been no reason to let that shot hit her—in fact, the flames from her teleportation would have seriously hurt Glory Girl, who was only now getting painfully to her hands and knees. She still couldn't walk, and was stuck on the ground as the Butcher stood over us.

Two dark eyes met mine, through the hole in my visor. The hole that she wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of. Grunting from the effort, I shifted around so that I could clap my left arm over the opening. That seemed to make up her mind—I wasn't a threat anymore, and she had more dangerous targets to deal with first. She turned, trying to walk away from us.

I couldn't move my legs, I couldn't push myself up—but I _could_ still move my left arm. Reaching out, I grabbed her by the ankle and held on, my sheer weight making her stumble for a moment. She kicked out at my head, connecting with my visor and knocking a chip of glass loose _,_ but I held on.

Her eyes snapped back to me. They were thunderous, as if she couldn't even _conceive_ of how such an insect would dare hamper her. She raised her bow, knocking an arrow and pointing it right at my helmet. I let go, reaching up toward my face. It was too slow, too weighted down by all that armor—

And then, the Butcher lurched forward with a sharp scream. There was a hole in her chest, right near the heart, and she fell to her knees with a yelp. Her eyes were wide, her mouth set into a grimace as she put a hand over the wound.

Behind her, Miss Militia stood with what had to be the biggest gun I'd ever seen in her hand, its long barrel still smoking. The Butcher fell to the ground to my left, and then disappeared in another burst of flame. I winced as a wave of dry heat washed over me, but the light tingling on my cheeks and nose seemed dim in comparison to everything else.

I grunted, and strained to see what was happening from my position on the ground. My mind whirled, trying to find a solution to the sudden problem of not being able to _move._ I could release my armor, use the sequence I'd programmed in to open it up and escape—but then what? Even with the cybernetics, my body would still be vulnerable and I'd only be a liability to everyone else.

It took me a moment to lever myself onto my side, so I could try and find the Butcher's new location. My eyes flickered over the buildings around us, over the Teeth—but they were running. The clones surged toward us, filling the street as the two capes Assault and Battery had been fighting vanished into the press. The monstrous cape, too, bounded off into their midst, shrinking and morphing until it, too, was impossible to locate amongst all those bodies.

They were retreating. I grimaced, suspecting some kind of trick—but there was no reason for the Butcher to leave, unless... unless she'd been badly hurt.

I scrambled to free myself from my armor, tensing hands and feet in the right sequence until the connectors unlocked themselves with a muffled hiss. It took another moment of struggling to try and tease them apart, and then I was flopping onto the pavement, reaching up to disconnect the control center.

As soon as I did, I was momentarily overwhelmed by pain. Everything hurt—my face, my legs, my _elbow_ —but I managed to rise to my hands and knees and look up.

"What—" I croaked, but stopped when I saw Miss Militia swaying slightly where she stood.

"They're leaving," Weld said, stating the obvious. The microphone crackled more than normal, probably because of the beating my helmet had just taken.

Miss Militia dropped her gun, only for it to reform in her hand a second later, this time as a knife.

"The Butcher is injured," she said, tonelessly. "I... believe it to be fatal."

Assault swore viciously over the comms. I struggled to my feet, staggering as my legs shook with the effort of holding me up. My _useless fucking legs,_ that had failed so critically in the middle of the fight. Head spinning, I made my way over to where Miss Militia stood, her power flickering as the weapon in her hand changed from knife to pistol to rocket launcher and on and on, making me dizzy as it went.

"What—" Clockblocker said, voice cracking. "What do we do?"

Miss Militia spoke quietly, still in an odd, distant voice. "This might be a unique opportunity. If... if I can get back to headquarters before she... well..."

"The Butcher's tougher than that, isn't she?" Assault argued, jogging over to his colleague in a daze. He was covered in small scratches, but looked otherwise unscathed.

"She was distracted," Miss Militia explained. "I didn't expect... not that it matters."

"Okay," Assault blurted, turning and starting to pace back and forth. "Okay, so she's hurt. That doesn't mean she's gonna _die."_

I finally managed to hobble over to them. Battery, too, had approached, and laid a hand on Miss Militia's shoulder.

"We need to get back," the Protectorate leader insisted. "Now, if possible." Her eyes squeezed shut, though I couldn't see much of her expression through the bandana over her mouth.

I could see what she meant. It was a sort of fucked-up practicality—if she were locked up before she turned, the world might finally be rid of the Butcher. And, if it would take time for the villain to succumb to the wound, we _would_ be able to contain her powers. But, if we _didn't..._

The mental image of a Butcher that could create guns out of thin air, _especially_ ones that shot rockets... it wasn't a good one.

"She might not die," Assault insisted.

"Even so," Miss Militia murmured. "I don't want to be out here, waiting for it." She straightened up, the only evidence that she wasn't as calm as she appeared being her power, still shifting erratically from form to form.

"Vista and Flechette are still frozen," Clockblocker reported solemnly. "And I can't move." He spat that last sentence with uncharacteristic anger, and I felt that I could empathize. If I'd been able to protect _myself_ when the Butcher had shot me... I gritted my teeth.

"The Wards should stay here for now," Miss Militia decided. "I'll go back to headquarters, and... wait this out. Whatever happens."

"Hannah..." Battery murmured, and I looked away uncomfortably. It felt weird, like I was spying on someone's last moments with their friends. I supposed I was.

Miss Militia vanished into the PRT van soon afterwards, with Assault and Battery following her in tense silence. I stood motionless in the street for a while, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. My legs shook under me, weak and useless.

Seconds turned into minutes, and one after another Flechette and Vista unfroze. Weld took on the unenviable task of telling them what had happened. The seven of us ended up sitting on a nearby curb, waiting for another van to come by and pick us up.

At some point, Glory Girl's powers had come back online. She hovered cross-leged a couple inches off the ground, flexing her hands. They'd gotten all scraped up during the fight, probably during one of her falls.

Time seemed agonizingly slow as we waited. Clockblocker made a few half-hearted attempts at starting conversation, then fell into an uneasy silence. Then, after what felt like hours but had probably been much less, Battery's voice came in over the comms.

"We're at headquarters," she said. "I'll be keeping you informed, but nothing seems to be happening yet."

I grunted to show I'd heard, but otherwise kept staring sullenly at my legs. It seemed bitterly unfair that, the one time I focused on something other than my cybernetics, their lack had almost gotten me killed.

After a while, Vista leaned her head on my shoulder. She looked more like the twelve-year-old she was in that moment than any other I could remember. I patted her awkwardly on the back.

The PRT van arrived soon after Battery began giving us updates. Each status report was given every fifteen minutes, like clockwork—another two came in as we were driving to headquarters. Each time, nothing had changed.

It was around two hours after that when the Wards were allowed to come and see Miss Militia. By then, she was sitting quietly on a cot in one of the Master-Stranger cells, looking up at us through the glass. She managed a smile as we approached, though her power was still flickering anxiously.

After we left the room, I asked one of the PRT agents how sure they were that the shot had been fatal. They'd grimaced, and said that as far as they knew, the Butcher had no regenerative powers. Yet still, it had been hours since the attack, and she hadn't died. Either that or she had, and her powers took a while to transfer.

There was, as it turned out, frustratingly little information available. We had no way of knowing whether or not something had happened, and Miss Militia herself could only confirm, over and over, that she couldn't use any of the Butcher's powers, that she didn't hear any voice in her head but her own.

By about midnight, one of the PRT agents managed to find a source saying that the third Butcher had taken approximately two hours to turn, but had begun noticing extra powers in less than twenty minutes.

The information seemed to breathe some life back to the assembled heroes. Assault in particular was vocal in his opinion that, if the Butcher _had_ been shot in the chest, she would almost certainly have 'kicked the bucket' by now.

Another four hours later, two of which I spent in a fitful nap, the PRT declared that holding Miss Militia was more of a formality at this point—somehow, it didn't seem the Butcher had died. When they told us, Missy broke down crying, shoving Dennis away when he started fussing over her.

"I'm _fine,"_ she insisted, hiccuping as she tried to talk. "I'm just happy."

For my part, I walked away from the rest of the group. Miss Militia was fine—it had worked out. _How?_

I'd seen the hole in the Butcher's chest, and the PRT had confirmed early on that none of her reincarnations had possessed any known regeneration powers. That she had managed to get away from us at all was a testament to her durability, but none of the Teeth had healing abilities, either. So _how_ had she survived?

Not to mention, why had she been shot in the first place? There had been nothing stopping her from teleporting, except—she'd looked down, at Glory Girl and I, and taken a bullet to the shoulder. Then, later, she'd been distracted when Miss Militia had hit her in the back... but the fact remained that she had no discernable reason to stay where she was.

I had too many unanswered questions, and while we'd _somehow_ managed a victory today, the Butcher was alive—and that meant we'd likely run into her again. So, I snuck away from the rest of the Wards and into Armsmaster's old lab. There, under the table, were the new cybernetics, right where I'd left them. They were still hidden by a sweatshirt—the old one I'd gotten all bloody when I'd installed the arm, though I'd cut off the worst of the stain to avoid suspicion.

Picking up the bag, I tucked it under my arm and left the building. I'd been _useless_ in that fight, as soon as the Butcher took out my armor. Helpless, trapped in my own tech. I was _never_ letting that happen again.

* * *

 **I'm curious what y'all think of the timeskipping there at the end. I wasn't entirely sure about doing that, but I figured having a huge cliffhanger over something that ultimately doesn't go anywhere would be worse.**


	37. It Doesn't Add Up

**It Doesn't Add Up**

* * *

 **Whelp, I gotta get up early again tomorrow, so... surprise! *jazz hands***

* * *

A few blocks away from the PRT building, I had to stop. Putting down the bag of cybernetics, I flopped down cross-legged on the ground and sighed. It was my own fault, really, for waiting this long to make the choice.

I could do the same thing I'd done last time, find a random alley somewhere and hope no Merchants happened by as I was doing the installation—or after, for that matter. All I had for a mask was a scrap of cloth I'd torn off the much-abused sweatshirt I'd been using to cover the tech in the bag, and that wasn't the most iron-clad assurance that my identity would stay hidden.

Or, of course, I could go home—and that was a weird enough thought. Dad had told me already that he would let me use the cybernetics if it meant being safer out of costume, as long as I was careful. That was by far the better option, but I was still hesitant to do it. I knew I'd be bleeding, it was just part and parcel of how my tech worked. It didn't bother me, but I knew dad would be a different story. I was a bit reluctant to risk having him see how gory it all was.

I sighed, and pulled the sweatshirt free of the bag to peer inside. They were creepy-looking machines, by just about any standard. Long and thin and covered in small needles, they wouldn't have been out of place in a horror film. Still, I thought there was a kind of beauty to them, too—the deep blue of the synthetic muscles they would integrate into my legs was just barely visible through the forest of wires and spines, but it caught the watery light filtering through the clouds above me and shone bright from inside the machines. I liked the bare-bones, skeletal aesthetic my power seemed to lend itself to, though whether that influenced my power or the other way around, I didn't know.

They had to be installed today. The fight with the Butcher had proven that much, and it was always better to be prepared than dead. That, and my armor was probably going to be out of commission until I fixed it, and I wasn't keen on going around powerless all the time. I _should_ bring them home. Maybe dad wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't go back on his word. At least, I didn't think he would. And anyway, he'd like it a lot less if I installed them in some random alleyway again.

But, at the same time... I didn't have the painkiller in my armor. It thankfully hadn't been broken when the Butcher smashed the control center, and that was a small miracle in and of itself. The problem was that the whole thing was a tangled mess now, and I hadn't managed to get it loose, not without risking damaging something important. Without it, I didn't really want to go home.

I also knew dad didn't like the cybernetics, and I'd assured him that I'd have a doctor or healer or someone with me the next time I used them. That wasn't possible right now.

With a frustrated groan, I crumpled up the sweatshirt and got ready to stow it in the bag again—and froze. A quiet crinkling noise made me bring it back out into the light. I rummaged through the pockets, and felt the unmistakable texture of paper inside. Drawing out a filthy napkin, I managed to make out an address written on one side in blotchy blue ink.

 _Tattletale,_ I realized. She'd scribbled down the location of... something. Her apartment, if I remembered correctly. I scowled at it, and shoved it back into the sweatshirt. I didn't want to go there... but I didn't really have to. All I had to do was find a secluded spot close by, and I'd have somewhere to go in the unlikely event that something went wrong.

Mind made up, I picked out the napkin again, put away the sweatshirt, and hitched the bag of cybernetics over my shoulder. It wasn't a long walk—at least, not as long as I'd expected. It seemed strange for a villain to want to live on the same side of the map as the PRT, but Tattletale's apartment was only a half-dozen blocks away.

Shrugging, I made my way through relatively nice streets—Leviathan hadn't hit this area as badly as my own neighborhood. There were people around, too, which made me clutch the bag of cybernetics closer and shove the incriminating napkin into the pocket of my jeans. No one seemed to notice me—I supposed I was fairly ordinary-looking, aside from the lattice of scars on my left arm, and those were mostly hidden by long sleeves.

I found Tattletale's apartment complex first, making sure to walk straight past the place without looking too suspicious. She'd made a note on the napkin of which window she was, probably in case I needed to show up in costume, and when I found it I realized that it overlooked a small grocery store—and there was an alley in between the two buildings.

It was cleaner than I expected of Brockton Bay alleyways. I supposed this was a nicer part of town than I generally walked around in. As appealing as it was, I couldn't stay there. For one thing, it was much wider than I would have preferred, with nothing at all to hide behind. I'd be easily visible from the street. That, and I didn't really want to leave a bloody mess just behind Tattletale's apartment. She probably wouldn't appreciate the attention that would bring down on her.

Instead, I wandered about half a block away until I stopped in front of a small park. It was locked up and deserted. After a quick check to make sure no one was looking, I vaulted over the fence and disappeared inside. It wasn't the most well-hidden spot, but I found a row of evergreens planted against the wall of a nearby building and moved until I was crouched underneath their branches. The air smelled like sap, and I felt my pounding heartbeat start to slow as I relaxed.

I pulled my sneakers and socks off easily, setting them off to the side. Shifting awkwardly, I managed to pull off my jeans, revealing a pair of ratty old shorts I'd slipped on underneath them. After a little more shuffling around, I brought the bag around to my left side and pulled out the cybernetics. They were heavy, heavy enough that I could only lift them with my augmented arm. After positioning each one, I paused a moment to collect myself.

They were massive, far larger than the one I'd used on my arm. It made me more nervous than I'd thought I would be, especially since I'd forgotten the painkiller. Still, it wasn't like waiting would make it any more pleasant—and besides, my arm hadn't actually hurt that much in the end.

I started them up and immediately looked away, focusing as much as I could on the earthy smells around me. It was hard to ignore just how alien the new tech felt as it was installed, but before long I could hear the last pieces settling.

Then, just as they began to still, something jammed. Internal mechanisms ground together, groaning as they stuck in place. I looked down in a sudden panic, groping for the emergency stop. Before I could turn the cybernetics off, the muscles in my right leg jumped, and I could feel a sharp, cold sting in my upper thigh. The machines coughed once, twice, and fell silent.

I leapt into action, releasing the clasps that held the cybernetics in place and sliding them off. My right leg was bleeding—well, _both_ my legs were bleeding, but the cuts were supposed to be superficial and avoid major arteries.

There were _not_ supposed to be any incisions that were heavy enough that my mind was spinning, and the ground around me was growing soggy. I clapped a hand over the wound, grimacing as I leaned against it and sent sharp pangs stabbing down my leg.

I grabbed frantically for the sweatshirt I'd brought, tearing at it with my teeth to make a strip long enough to cover the injury. But it just _kept bleeding,_ and I was starting to get dizzy. I'd have to call an ambulance, the PRT would find out... except I didn't have my _phone,_ even that wasn't an option anymore.

 _The apartment,_ I thought distantly. I lurched clumsily to my feet, hissing in a breath between my teeth as the gash began to soak through the makeshift bandage. My legs held my weight easily, though the simple act of standing made the injury scream in protest.

Pressing the scrap of cloth as hard against the wound as I could, I stumbled to the park fence and hauled myself over it, wincing as I slipped lose on the other side and landed heavily. My knees might have buckled, but the mechanisms inside them were apparently working fine—they absorbed the impact just as they were supposed to.

Making my way into the street, I glanced around fearfully for other people out and about. There was what looked like a young couple sitting on the curb a few feet away, though they were too absorbed in each other to notice me. I stopped, considering, then nearly fell over as my vision swam. It didn't matter if they saw me. Not now.

My progress was agonizingly slow, though that was mainly because I was trying not to jostle the injury too much. It was hard to put pressure on it while I was walking, and I ended up finding a strange, loping rhythm as I jogged the small distance between me an the apartment. Then, I ducked down the nice, clean alleyway—hoping against hope that no one would notice the occasional drop of blood there—and considered the window.

I made the ascent faster than I should have. Once I tied the bandage around my leg to free up both hands, climbing from balcony to balcony was relatively easy. All I had to do was jump, and grab hold with my good arm. From there, I could haul myself up and repeat the process.

The problem was, I was losing blood. My head spun with every movement, and I nearly fell off half a dozen times as I went. When I finally reached the level of Tattletale's window—or what I dearly hoped was Tattletale's window—I didn't even hesitate to pound on the glass with one hand.

For a moment, there was silence—and I was sure no one was home, that I would pass out on that balcony. I couldn't see inside, not through the drawn curtains. Then a shadow passed across the blinds, and I watched them move aside.

I didn't recognize her at first—her hair was down, and something about her face seemed softer, rounder... but her eyes widened, and she shoved the window open. I half-collapsed inside, wincing when I realized I was on a _carpet,_ and a nice one at that.

"What the hell—" Tattletale blurted, leaning down to stare at me. "Shit. I'll call the doctor."

Then she was gone, and I was left lying on her floor and probably bleeding all over her rug. I tried to pull myself to my feet, to collapse somewhere else—maybe a bathroom. But the second I tried, I nearly blacked out. My vision tunneled, and I lay gasping on my stomach, just focusing on not loosing consciousness in a villain's apartment.

Frantic footsteps sounded from outside, and the door swung open a moment later. I felt her hands under my arms, trying to lift me up—but then she stopped, and flopped back on the floor.

"How are you so heavy—" she grumbled, then stopped. "Nevermind. Can you get up?"

I shook my head, wincing as the motion made my stomach lurch. "Your carpet..." I mumbled. She actually laughed.

"Don't worry about that. Just... hang on, I'm going to try to turn you over." I grunted agreement, and did my best to help her as she pushed me onto my back. My hands had both ended up at my sides, not doing anything at all to cover the gash. Tattletale knelt down next to me, pressing down with both hands on the torn up sweatshirt.

"Reminds me of when Grue got shot by Shadow Stalker," she said conversationally. "He bled all over Regent's favorites couch. The asshole seemed more worried about that then the giant hole in our leader."

"Shadow Stalker?" I groaned. "Why... wasn't she a Ward?"

Tattletale shrugged. "She had a nasty violent streak."

I winced as her grip on my leg tightened. "Sorry," she said, "But I'd really rather if you didn't bleed out before the good doctor got here." Her sardonic smirk returned. "It'd be kind of hard to explain how a dead Ward ended up in my apartment."

"Not funny," I grumbled.

"Yeah, I guess I've been spending too much time with—fuck, hey, eyes open." She snapped her fingers in front of my face, jolting me back into awareness. "Try to focus on not passing out, 'kay?"

I tried to nod, but found myself drifting off again almost immediately. She slapped me lightly on the cheek, and that seemed to do the trick.

"Just stay awake a few more minutes, okay? The doctor shouldn't be too long."

"Yeah." I forced myself to look around, taking in the white walls and thick drapes over the windows. They'd been closed before, and even now the lights in the room were off, and the sun's rays seemed swallowed up by shadows. I thought it must be a living room, with doors leading off to the left and right of it.

"You're lucky I was here, you know," Tattletale continued. "Another half hour or so and I would've been out in costume."

"Doing what?" I asked, before wincing. "Sorry."

She grinned. "Dastardly deeds, of course. Well, dastardly paperwork."

Her expression dropped. "What about you? How exactly did you end up here?"

"Climbed," I grunted. "I was putting in more of the cybernetics, and I guess the calibration was off..." I trailed off, staring at the ceiling. My stomach clenched, and I found myself taking deep breaths to combat the sudden nausea.

We stayed like that for what felt like a long time—though _everything_ seemed like a long time when I was bleeding all over someone else's carpet. Tattletale kept talking, though I suspected there was a method to her madness. The more she distracted me, the less likely it was that I would pass out.

Then, finally, the doctor arrived. The only warning I got was the sound of a door opening, what seemed like miles and miles away to my addled mind. He was crisply professional, showing no obvious curiosity about who I was and how I'd gotten so cut up. That was, until he pulled out what looked like a pair of tweezers.

"There's metal in the cuts," he murmured, reaching for my left ankle.

"I know!" I yelped, pushing his hand away. I missed, and ended up grabbing onto his sleeve. "Just leave it." He looked uncertainly at Tattletale. She nodded, and he shrugged, switching to disinfectant and stitches. He fussed over the injuries I'd gotten from the Butcher, too, mostly the one at my elbow. The smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air as he worked, making me dizzier than I already was.

I spaced out at some point, and ended up staring slack-jawed at the ceiling while the doctor wrapped the cut on my leg in a bandage. Tattletale watched from somewhere over his shoulder, and I felt oddly exposed. Here I was, on the floor of a villain's living room, letting some secretive medic stitch me up. No way this could go wrong, no sir! I giggled a little at that.

The doctor snapped his fingers about an inch away from my nose. I blinked, trying to push my head back and away from the noise. The floor got in the way.

"She's lost a lot of blood," he noted clinically. "I can't do much about that, not without bringing her to a hospital."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Tattletale asked.

"I don't think so." He frowned. "She hit a few arteries, but none of the really major ones. I'm surprised, honestly. Other than this one—" he prodded at the deepest of the cuts, and I winced. "And the one on her elbow, none of them are bleeding as much as I'd expect."

"That's good," Tattletale said, leaning over to peer at the injury.

"You really want me to leave the shrapnel?" the doctor asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Shrapnel? When did I get shrapnel?" I tried to sit up and look at my legs, but the doctor put a hand on my shoulder to keep me down.

"Rest," he ordered. "It's a miracle you're even alive. It's none of my business, so I won't _ask_ why you look like you were just on the wrong end of some kind of grenade, but you should know that this is _not_ what normally happens."

"Huh?" I said, eloquently.

"Thanks, doc," Tattletale interjected. "Are we done here?"

He nodded reluctantly. "You should know, leaving that stuff in—"

"Non-negotiable," she confirmed. "I doubt you'd be able to get it out, anyway."

The doctor shrugged again, picked up his bag, and headed out the door. As soon as he was gone, Tattletale seemed to relax.

"Grenade?" I slurred. I tried to get up again, but my head was still spinning.

"Sleep for a little while, okay?" she told me, bending down to grab my arm. "If I can just get you to the couch—"

I stood, swaying slightly. Tattletale stared.

"Or that." She stared down at my legs, and the bandage around my right one. "I'd be careful. That's probably going to make it worse."

I shrugged, and seated myself on her sofa. My back sank at least a few inches into the pale blue cushions—it was a nice piece of furniture, probably expensive. I really hoped I wouldn't bleed on it.

"So," Tattletale said, seating herself on the arm of the couch. "What happened?"

"Cybernetics messed up," I mumbled. It was really hard to stay conscious when I was so comfortable. "Must've calibrated them wrong."

"You knew that was a risk?"

"No," I grunted, forcing myself to open my eyes. "I didn't."

Tattletale made a face. "There has to be a better way for you to do this."

"Get the PRT to approve it. Which won't happen."

She scowled. "It would be a lot easier if you had a healer with you. Which also won't happen, I know, but..." she trailed off, frowning. "Anyway, I'll leave you alone for a while."

I frowned, feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in her apartment. She either didn't notice—which seemed unlikely—or had correctly assumed that, whether or not I felt safe, I'd be out like a light within minutes. Already my eyelids were getting heavy, and I found myself collapsing bonelessly against the soft cushions.

It was Tattletale who woke me up, though I don't think it was intentional. There was a loud clatter somewhere in the other room, and what sounded like her voice. I couldn't hear what she'd said, exactly, but I pushed myself up into a sitting position and waited.

Minutes later, she emerged from wherever she'd been, brow furrowed, and shut the door firmly behind her. "You're up," she observed. I nodded.

"How long was I asleep?"

Tattletale made a so-so gesture with her hand. "A few hours. Probably not enough, but you should go home anyway. Wouldn't want people to come looking for you."

I winced, imagining the fit dad would throw if I came home late without explanation after installing cybernetics without telling him— _again._ Still, there was something bothering me, so I turned to Tattletale and asked, "Who were you talking to?"

She blinked. "No one. I knocked over a pot..." trailing off, she glanced back toward the door she'd entered through. A prickle of suspicion started at the back of my neck, and I rose to my feet.

"I guess I should go." Tattletale nodded, then paused. She shot another look over her shoulder at the open door to the other room, then shook her head and returned her attention to me.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something." I looked back at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What's going on with the PRT, anyway? There was definitely a fight, but the news didn't say anything and they've been swarming around headquarters like termites. That's not normal, even when they're in the middle of huge takedowns they usually tell the press _something."_

"You want me to give you inside information on the PRT?" I deadpanned. "I'm not _that_ out of it."

Wincing, Tattletale shook her head. "Right, sorry."

But her question had reminded me of just what her power _was_ —pulling information out of thin air. There were a lot of things that had been bothering me about the fight, things the Butcher had done that didn't make _sense._ Mind made up, I seated myself on the couch again.

"We fought the Teeth," I said, watching her face for some kind of reaction. I wasn't disappointed. Her eyes went almost comically wide, before she started talking a mile a minute.

"You—what? They're here... of course they are, the Protectorate's too damaged by Leviathan to pose that much of a threat to them. And you're _alive,_ so obviously the fight didn't go too badly..." she stopped, staring down at me. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Something weird happened," I admitted. "It doesn't add up, and, well..."

"I'm good at that," she said, not at all modestly. "What happened?"

I paused, trying to word the question as vaguely as possible. "Someone hit her pretty hard. Hard enough that she should've died."

Tattletale sat bolt upright. "Someone—not you, you're strong but you're way too calm for that to be what happened. Who else could..." her eyes widened. "Please tell me it's not Flechette."

I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off. "Thank _god,_ I'd rather not have to leave town. But if it's not her... I doubt Assault or Battery could manage that even if they were trying... Miss Militia? She's the only other hero that has that kind of firepower."

"I'm not sure why I bother," I grumbled. Tattletale had the nerve to laugh.

"You wouldn't be here if the leader of the Protectorate was about to become the next Butcher," she continued. "Which is a pretty scary thought, by the way. But no... she didn't die."

"She didn't," I confirmed. "But I _saw_ it. She was hit right in the chest, I was surprised she even managed to teleport out of there."

Tattletale frowned. "She might have a healing factor," she mused. "I've heard some rumblings from other villains that one of her incarnations did. But I doubt it's _that_ good. One of the Teeth might have killed her, though. Or maybe Miss Militia was outside her power's range, somehow? No, people have been trying to pull that off for years and it never seems to be enough..."

"That's not the only weird thing. I was right next to her when it happened—she should have been able to get out of the way."

"Really, now?" Tattletale perked up at that. "What was going on, exactly?"

"She'd just shot my armor," I admitted. "So I was stuck. And there was a trump there—"

"Animos," she supplied.

"Yeah. He hit Glory Girl with his power, so she was down. Right next to me, I think." I frowned, trying to remember. "Kid Win was pretty close by, but he was too busy dealing with Animos to do much."

"Could Animos have hit the Butcher by accident?" Tattletale asked.

I shook my head. "The scream... I don't need powers to use my gear, but it still made Kid and I stumble a bit when it hit us. She didn't do that."

"So she didn't _want_ to teleport."

"It doesn't make _sense,"_ I hissed, frustrated. "The whole fight, she was using her fire to keep us off-balance, but she just _stood_ there and took a bullet."

"She let Miss Militia take a lethal shot?"

I paused. "No. She let her hit her in the shoulder. Then she went to walk away, and I grabbed her foot. She looked around, and then she got shot in the chest."

Tattletale put a hand on her chin, in the classic thinker pose. "You're right, that is weird. I'd guess she was distracted the second time around, but there was no reason for her to walk away from you when she could teleport. Unless..." she trailed off, massaging her temple.

"Unless?" I prompted.

"The only thing I can think of is that she didn't want to hurt you or Glory Girl," Tattletale explained. "But that _really_ doesn't make sense."

"It definitely wasn't me," I decided. "When she turned around, I think she was getting ready to put a dart through my head." I winced—it sounded a lot worse when I said it out loud like that.

"So, Glory Girl." Tattletale got to her feet and started pacing back and forth. "It's not a question of keeping a low profile, it's not a moral issue—those ships all sailed _long_ ago. So why—" She stopped dead. "Leverage?"

"Leverage?" I repeated, confused.

"It's the only thing that adds up. I mean, _maybe_ she took one look at Glory Girl, fell madly in love, and decided to renounce her villainous ways, but—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I grumbled. "But _why?"_

"That," Tattletale declared. "Is the million dollar question. So who in New Wave would the Butcher—" she froze. My own eyes widened as realization struck.

"Panacea," I whispered. "It has to be."

"But she didn't try to _take_ Glory Girl," Tattletale mumbled, starting to pace again. "So she just needs her alive as a credible threat. That was why she took the hit to her shoulder, it was a mild inconvenience compared to the possibility of losing her leverage."

"We need to call the PRT," I blurted.

 _"You,"_ Tattletale corrected, "Need to call the PRT. From somewhere other than my house. But that's going to have to wait until you can stand, because you're fairly heavy with all that metal in you and I never claimed to be a brute."

"I can stand, remember?" I rose easily to my feet. My bad leg ached, but not so badly that I couldn't walk.

"Of course you can." Tattletale rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "You know that's going to aggravate the injury, right?"

"As long as it stays stitched up, I'll be fine."

Her eye twitched, but she threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine. Your funeral. So go, find someone with a phone, and tell them you figured it out yourself."

I shook my head. "We already fought her. And they could be anywhere by now, they're not going to stay in that same warehouse. I need help."

Tattletale frowned. "Look, I think I know where this is going, and I can do some recon for you but the rest of my team is _not_ going to jump on the idea of fighting the _Butcher."_

"You said you owed me a favor," I insisted.

"Yes, _I_ do. But I'm not the leader, and I'm not going to be able to do shit in a fight like that."

"If I paid them, would they do it?"

She gave me an odd look. "That depends. Regent probably would. Grue definitely wouldn't. But unless you're going to tell me you've robbed a bank recently..."

"You gave me ten thousand, remember?"

"That's not going to be enough, especially not split fo—three ways. You'd be asking them to risk their lives."

"You told me you'd pay for one of the painkillers," I added. "I'll make you one, as long as you can get us help."

"And I'd fund the fight..." Tattletale narrowed her eyes. "There's no way the PRT is going to go for that."

"No," I agreed. "But New Wave might."

"Bad idea," Tattletale groaned. "Really, really bad idea."

"Why?"

"New Wave hates us, for one thing," she snapped. "And I doubt we'd fare much better against the Butcher than the Protectorate."

"So we call them, too," I said. "We fought together against the Merchants, didn't we?"

"That was—" she stopped, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Fine. There's precedent. But we can't be sure they won't try to arrest us, too."

"I'll tell them you're with us, then."

"No, you won't. We're villains, remember? How are you going to explain the fact that we're there in the first place?"

"I don't know!" I half-shouted. I stopped, took a deep breath, and continued more quietly, "Gangs get into fights all the time, don't they?"

"That's one hell of a coincidence," she pointed out.

"Then I'll tell them the truth, that I'm selling you a painkiller in return for your help." I was breathing hard, both hands balled into fists from where I stood.

"And when they put you on probation for aiding a known villain? Or lock you up in one of the Master/Stranger rooms?" Tattletale asked quietly. "Then what?"

"Doesn't matter," I grumbled.

 _"Yes,_ it does!" She put both hands on her hips, glowering down at me. "You haven't been thinking about the consequences for a while. I know it doesn't seem to matter to you, but it's self-destructive. You're going to get yourself hurt, you almost _died_ a few hours ago because you didn't slow down and _think."_

"I _am_ thinking," I insisted. "I'm thinking that I don't give a _fuck_ about the PRT, if the Teeth are going around _kidnapping people._ I'm thinking that if we don't do something, together, then she's just going to be stuck there with them until another Endbringer comes around!"

Tattletale stared at me for a moment, eyes wide. I flushed. Part of me was anticipating more of an argument, but she just sighed. "Nothing I can say is going to stop you, is it?"

"No."

Tattletale groaned. "Let's at least come up with a _plan,_ first."

"So you'll help me?" I asked, hardly daring to hope.

"Yes, fine," she grumbled. "I'll see what I can do about the Undersiders. Nothing we can do is going to get Grue on board with this. But, between the money I already gave you and the value of the painkiller, I could probably offer something like fifteen thousand to Regent and... and that's probably enough. As for the heroes... we'll talk. I don't think it's going to work out the way you want it to, but I'll try to get at least one of my teammates on board."

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard!" chirped a third, entirely unfamiliar voice from _right behind me._ I yelped, tripping forwards and landing in a heap on the floor. My leg throbbed, and I twisted around to try and look at who had just snuck up on me so easily.

Above me, a horned mask framed a wide, toothy grin. Two dark eyes glittered mischievously through a pair of slanted openings, both staring directly at me. The figure's smile widened, showing another few molars.

"You know," they said conversationally, "Fifteen thousand is a _very_ pretty number..."


	38. Even More Intense in Person

**Even More Intense in Person**

* * *

As embarrassing as it was, I screamed.

Not only that, I tipped off the couch and aimed a kick directly at the masked person's head, forgetting momentarily that I'd just installed the cybernetics. Lucky for them, I missed—but my heel slammed into the back of the couch with a loud _crack_ and I was dumped unceremoniously to the floor.

"Imp!" Tattletale snapped, sounding more irritated than surprised. "I _told_ you to stop doing that."

"But it was so _perfect!"_ the other cape protested, leaning on the back of the couch with both elbows. It creaked warningly, apparently not quite recovered from my kick.

"What?" I groaned, levering myself up onto my elbows. Tattletale's reaction calmed me down a _little,_ but I was still ready to leap to my feet and attack the stranger.

Tattletale flopped down on the couch, holding her head in both hands. "Cobalt, meet my new teammate, Imp. Or... not?" I shook my head, and she broke into a grin. "New name, got it. Aurora, really? You and Grue are nerds of a feather. Imp, Aurora. Aurora, Imp."

They— _she,_ I realized, as she stepped forward and revealed more of her figure—cackled. An honest-to-god, ready to put babies in a cauldron _cackle._

"Your... _what?_ Why didn't you tell me there was someone else here?!"

"I forgot," Tattletale grumbled. The look on my face must have been worth a thousand words—most of them four letters long—because she chose to elaborate. "It's her power. Everyone forgets about her."

"Seriously?" I hissed, whirling to look at—Tattletale's couch. When had the back started listing like that?

I turned back to Tattletale. "So, you think you can get your teammate to—"

"Believe me now?" whispered a voice, _right by my ear._ I yelped again, jamming an elbow into Imp's stomach. She lurched forward with a wheeze, though _this_ time at least I'd remembered to tamp down on the force. Might have been messy, otherwise.

"Fuck, ow!" Imp whined, collapsing onto her side on the floor with a thump.

"Be _careful,"_ Tattletale scolded her. "She's a brute, you're lucky she didn't hurt you."

"I feel pretty hurt," her teammate protested.

"It was your own fault." Imp stuck out her tongue and laughed again. This time she was a bit quieter about it, probably because I'd hit her diaphragm.

"I'm not in _costume,"_ I moaned. "This is _not_ okay, Tattletale!"

"I'm sorry!" Both her hands came up in a placating gesture that I did _not_ appreciate. I glared at her, eyes narrowed. "I didn't know. Usually I can tell she's around, but I used my power a lot yesterday." A look of indescribable weariness passed across her face. "Which _means,_ I always have to deal with her popping out of nowhere when I have migraines."

"Not at your house, though," Imp replied cheerfully. "Until just now, I guess. And I know where it is as of about a week ago, so..."

"So I have to move."

"That's going a _little_ far..."

"What were you doing here, anyway?" Tattletale asked, giving her a suspicious once-over. "I don't need my power to know that's a bit stalker-ish, even for you."

Imp shrugged. "I found some Merchants on our turf. They're running for the hills, but I wanted to talk to you about it in case it wasn't just an isolated bunch of idiots."

"And you didn't wait at the base like we agreed because...?"

"I got bored." Tattletale slumped backwards on the sofa, putting an arm over her eyes and heaving an exaggerated sigh.

"Hey!" I called out, clapping my hands to get their attention. "What you said before, about wanting the money—does that mean you're in?"

Imp looked a bit like a cat when she grinned. "Hell yeah!" she replied. "And I'm pretty sure Regent will be easy to bribe, too."

"Wait!" Tattletale snapped, then sighed when Imp and I both turned to stare at her. She muffled a groan into her hand. "Look, I am _more_ than aware how weird it is for me to be the responsible one, but Grue's not here and it's _dangerous."_

"You're going," Imp pointed out.

 _"I_ am not going to be anywhere near the fight itself," Tattletale insisted. "And you have no protection whatsoever. If the Butcher sees you, you _will_ die. Period."

"So? She won't even know I'm there."

"You can't just assume that!" Tattletale half-rose from her chair, then sat down with a groan and put a hand to her head again. "What if her danger sense interacts with your power the same way I do? What will you do then?"

"I won't go near her, then!" Imp pleaded. "You're letting Regent go!"

"He's an adult," Tattletale replied. "He's allowed to go on suicide missions if he wants."

"That's so stupid!"

 _"Besides,"_ she gritted out, "He'll be _far away from the fight,_ okay?" Imp paused, then nodded reluctantly.

"Okay, fine—but I'd still be safer than Miss Militia! I could go in and find Panacea, then get out and tell you where she is. Or just grab her while you all distract the Butcher."

Tattletale opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. "That... is way too good of a point." She sighed. "Fine. But don't you _dare_ kill the Butcher. Don't even think about it. Don't even think about _poking_ her, got it? I don't know how her danger sense works, and a psychotic murderer with your powerset is a real-life slasher movie waiting to happen."

Imp snapped to attention and saluted. I began to wonder how old she was, underneath her mask—my guess started at around eighteen and had been plummeting ever since she'd opened her mouth.

"Grue won't want anything to do with this," Tattletale decided, "and he'd probably pop a vein if he heard about Imp going along with it. Bitch... maybe she'll want the money, but I really doubt she'll be willing to work with heroes. That leaves us and Regent."

"I'll call the PRT," I added. "And they can contact New Wave."

"I can get Regent on board," Imp suggested. "Won't be that hard if you're offering fifteen thousand."

"And I'll start figuring out where the Teeth went," Tattletale said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "I don't suppose you have one of those painkillers on you now?" I shook my head.

"Right. Imp!" She snapped her fingers imperiously. "Advil. You probably looked in my medicine cabinet already." Imp winked, and vanished into another room.

"How long will it take to find them?" I asked anxiously. Tattletale held up her hands in the universal gesture for 'fucked if I know.'

"Depends on how well they hid," she replied. "I have a few contacts who may be able to get me a list of good spots, so that could be a decent start. You might want to hold off on calling the Wards for an hour or two, because this mission starts as soon as Glory Girl hears the news, whether we like it or not."

"Hours?" I repeated, shoulders slumping. "Do we _have_ hours?"

"Doesn't really matter. I'm not running at full capacity here, and even if I _was,_ I can't just pull information out of thin air. My power lets me skip a _lot_ of the legwork, but I need something to start with."

I grimaced. Tattletale seemed to read my expression, because her voice shifted to something a bit softer. "But... yeah, we have time. The Butcher probably won't want to jump right back into combat, not after what Miss Militia did to her. And Panacea is no use to her dead. She'll be fine for as long as the Teeth can contain her."

"And how long is that?" I asked, somewhat bitterly.

"Well, if she keeps her cool... indefinitely. If not... the world might be fucked again."

I looked up and narrowed my eyes. "That seems to happen to you a lot, doesn't it?"

"I'd argue it's happening to _her,_ but that's just semantics." Tattletale managed her old grin, then sat up. "Right! Time to put my nose to the grindstone."

"What should I do?" I stood up from the couch, noticing rather suddenly that I was taller than Tattletale. She gave me a once-over, then raised an eyebrow. I looked down, confused. "What?"

"You need some clean clothes," she commented dryly, pointing at the bloodstained bandage around my leg and, of course, the ratty shorts that really didn't cover much. "I think I have some that'll fit, just give me a sec."

Something about the way she said it struck me as a bit ominous, but I nodded agreement. That, it turned out, was a mistake. Tattletale did not own large, concealing sweatshirts or baggy jeans. I squirmed uncomfortably as she poked around in her closet a moment, before she cast a calculating glance over her shoulder and sighed.

"Here." Then she tossed a pair of yoga pants and a fairly normal-looking blouse at my head. I cast a suspicious look at them, as though they might suddenly grow teeth. Or, more accurately, _shrink._ Tattletale rolled her eyes at me, then walked out of the room.

I pulled them on as quickly as I could, wincing as the pants dragged over the bandage on my leg. Well, bandages—most of the others were smaller and the cuts they covered were hardly bleeding at all, but they were still sticky and having them yanked on hurt.

When I was finally dressed—though it probably hadn't taken more than a minute or two—I left the room and, with barely a twinge of regret, tossed the rest of my clothes in the trash. Just as I was about to exit through the same window I'd entered, Tattletale reached out and grabbed my arm. "Wait." Confused, I looked back at her and noticed that she was glaring at me.

"What?"

"You're not going to be on the front lines for this one," she said firmly.

"What are you talking about?!"

 _"Think,_ Aurora!" she hissed. "You don't have armor. The first thing that'll happen if you show up to this fight is that you get nailed through the throat with an arrow!"

I scowled, ready to protest—then stopped. "You're right," I decided. Tattletale actually rocked back on her heels, her mouth gaping open for a moment. Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What's the catch?"

"My armor got busted," I explained, "But with the cybernetics, I think I could lift it. I just need to strip out all the nonessentials, and I'd be protected again."

"You'd need to go to the Wards for that," she pointed out.

"I would. Is that okay?"

She waved her hand, nodding. "Yeah, go ahead. Tell them... as much as you want, I guess, about the situation—not this address, obviously, or Imp and Regent until we know he's on board. And make sure they don't call Glory Girl until we know where they are, I don't want her getting it into her head to go out looking on her own and draw attention to herself. Oh, and see if you can get them to send me some intelligence about the Teeth. That's probably going to be a no, but you never know."

I paused a moment to absorb all this, then nodded. "Got it."

"Right. Take a granola bar or something with you." I snorted.

"What are you, my dad?"

"Eat something, or you'll faint in the middle of the fight." Rolling my eyes, I strode into her kitchen and made a show of biting into a banana she'd had on her counter.

The way back to the Wards was fairly simple—I ran. The whole trek was a only a few blocks, and with my augmented legs it took far less time than the first trip. Granted, I couldn't run as fast as I was capable of, not without outing myself to whoever I passed by, but I _could_ move at top speed for a normal person just about indefinitely.

I had, unfortunately, forgotten my sneakers in the park where I'd installed the cybernetics. After briefly considering running back to the PRT anyway, I remembered that I had something important coming up and probably didn't want to scratch up my feet. So, after a quick detour to grab my shoes and stuff the bloody machinery and sweatshirt somewhere slightly more well-hidden, I took off.

Shoes pounding evenly against the concrete, I pumped my arms and _flew_ across the pavement. Technically, I _could_ have run this fast before—but the way it was so effortless, the way my breathing stayed steady even as I pelted across sidewalks and leapt over small heaps or rubble... it was wonderful This, _this_ was why I loved my power.

All too soon, I skidded to a stop in front of the PRT building. It was, like it had been since our fight with the Butcher, absolutely _swarming_ with officers. Some were entering, but more were leaving, piling into vans and disappearing into the city proper. That was probably a good thing—it meant they had stopped worrying that Miss Militia was going to become the next Butcher.

Ducking inside, I breezed past the secretary—being a Ward was handy like that—and headed upstairs. Halfway there, I nearly bumped into Chris. He took a step back and stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Where have you _been?"_ he hissed.

 _Shit,_ I thought. "I went for a walk," I said aloud. It was an incredibly lame excuse, and both of us knew it. But, instead of narrowing his eyes, Chris shifted around awkwardly.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk, I guess," he mumbled. "Sorry."

I blinked. "No, that's fine. I... uh..." Telling Tattletale I'd come clean to the Wards was a lot easier then actually _doing_ it. "I need to talk to the Director. I'll see you later?"

Chris frowned. "She's probably busy. Maybe Renick—"

"It's... kind of urgent."

"Right. Um, okay." He walked past me down the stairs, turning at the last second to call, "Good luck!" over his shoulder.

I couldn't help but smile. That was, until I realized that I was about to have a meeting with Director Piggot. My heart sank—I'd had barely any interaction with the woman since I'd joined the Wards, but Clockblocker had apparently been calling her 'Piggy' behind her back since his first day on the team, and as far as I knew she was the only person in the PRT who scared him enough to get him to do his paperwork on time.

Then again, I _could_ find Weld first and drag him along as backup. That thought seemed much more appealing, and before long I was knocking on his door. I had to wait a while. When he finally opened it, he looked hastily dressed and had a pair of headphones around his neck. I managed a smile, then quailed in the face of his glare.

"We've been trying to contact you," he said flatly.

"I left my phone," I admitted.

He heaved a sigh. "Where were you? Why didn't you tell us you were leaving?"

"That's... kind of a long story." I rubbed nervously at the back of my neck. "I need to talk to the Director."

Judging from Weld's expression, that was _not_ the kind of thing that was reassuring to hear. "Can you tell me why?" he asked.

"I was... installing some of my tech." My left hand clenched in to a fist—there it was, out in the open. Part of me—dare I say _all_ of me—wanted to recall it, find a better way to phrase it, wait until I was absolutely _sure_ I wanted to do this... but I'd made up my mind.

I liked the Wards, more than I'd honestly thought I would when I first got my powers. I didn't want to leave the team, but if they kicked me out for what I was doing... I could live with that. I _wouldn't_ be able to live with being another useless hero, wandering cluelessly around the city while Panacea was trapped by the Teeth.

Weld, who hadn't seemed to understand, was giving me a quizzical look. "Installed... what, exactly?" Slowly, haltingly, I rolled up my sleeve.

"Cybernetics."

He stared at me a moment, expressionless. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, as his eyes traced the scars across my arm.

"You... did that." I nodded, flexing my fingers.

"It's stronger, now," I explained. "My legs, too. I can fun faster and longer, jump higher, it feels _amazing—"_

Weld raised a hand, cutting me off. "When? _How?_ Taylor, I know you didn't get clearance for this, because Chris _told_ me. Did you just ignore them when they told you no?"

I looked away, and that seemed to be all the confirmation he needed. His breath hissed out from between his teeth.

"Am I going to stick to you?"

"What?" That had been the _last_ thing I'd expected him to say. "No, it's all under my skin. Why—"

He grabbed my arm, and pushed it toward me. Startled, I tried to shove him away—and he nearly overbalanced as I twisted his arm over his shoulder. When he was satisfied, he dropped my wrist.

"It's stronger than the armor," he said, eying my bicep—still thin and weedy-looking.

"Not really. It's the same amount of muscle, but it doesn't have to carry around all the extra weight."

Weld swallowed. "Why do you need the Director? Why are you telling me any of this? Did something go wrong?"

I winced. "Well... yeah. It's a long story. Can I go talk to her?"

"I'll come with you." He stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. He probably meant it as a protective gesture, and it _was_ why I'd talked to him in the first place, but all I could think of was the fact that there would now be _two_ people hearing about my clandestine meeting with a villainous thinker. The Director was intimidating enough, but Weld could actually fight me if he wanted to.

"Sure," I said aloud, forcing down the queasy feeling in my gut. Whether that was anxiety or leftover symptoms of the blood loss, I had no idea.

I tried very hard to ignore my first impression of the walk to Director Piggot's office, because it felt very much like I was a prisoner being escorted to my cell. Or a gallows—it all depended on how badly the meeting went.

 _The Teeth are more important,_ I told myself. If all this went wrong, they still couldn't arrest me. At least, I didn't _think_ so. The uncertainty was difficult to dismiss.

It certainly didn't help that I'd never met the Director before. The second Weld knocked on the door to her office, I could hear a muffled, "Come in," from the other side. Her voice was sharp, very no-nonsense. And here I was, to talk about all the nonsense I'd pulled against a direct order from the PRT. _Joy._

Weld opened the door without further prompting, then let me go in ahead of him. All I could think was that I was hemmed in on two sides. I could outrun him, though—he didn't get tired, at least not as quickly as a baseline human might, but neither did I anymore.

The woman behind the desk was someone I did recognize. I'd only ever seen her on the news, usually delivering some speech about a particular fight between the Protectorate and some villain group. Her dark eyes were even more intense in person, seemingly staring right through my skin and into the squishy guts—and the nuts and bolts. She sat straight, despite the medical machinery I could see running tubes down under her desk. Very militaristic, not approachable in the slightest. I took a deep breath.

"Hello Director," I said. Her eyes narrowed.

"Do not waste my time," she snapped. "Either schedule a meeting through the proper channels, or get to the point."

"The Teeth have Panacea," I blurted, wishing very suddenly that my dad was here. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to _do_ anything, but it would have been nice to have her gaze spread evenly between two people.

The Director leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk and staring at me. "You have my attention. How do you know this?"

I swallowed. _I should have listened to Tattletale,_ I thought, but it was too late now. "I, um... I met with Tattletale. She put it together." Behind me, I saw Weld stiffen where he stood, his back going rigid. He stared at me, incredulous.

I scrambled to explain. "It wasn't anything criminal, I just... well... she said she owed me, for getting rid of Coil." _Getting rid of Coil_ sounded a lot better than _murdering her boss,_ I supposed. My stomach clenched, but I kept talking. "She gave me her address, for, um, using my tech."

Piggot's eyes, which had been narrowing steadily as long as I'd been speaking, twitched. "I would guess," she said, with deliberate slowness, "that this is in relation to a _fascinating_ report I received from Dr. Drummond the other day. You installed untested technology, without our permission." It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.

With a long-suffering sigh that I was fairly sure had a lot to do with Armsmaster and Kid Win, Director Piggot folded her hands and laid them on her desk. "That does _not_ explain how you know Amy Dallon has been captured by the Teeth. Forgive me for being reluctant to take Tattletale's word on this." The sarcasm startled me a bit, but Weld shot me a sympathetic look that helped calm me down.

"When Miss Militia shot the Butcher, I was there. It didn't—It didn't _look_ right. She was hit right in the chest, not something she should've been able to recover from."

"Our working theory at the moment is that one of her subordinates killed her, in order to keep her powers in the family, so to speak." Piggot's expression grew calculating. "Why do you find Tattletale's claim more convincing?"

"She didn't have to take that bullet," I explained. "I mean, before. Miss Militia shot her in the arm, she _saw_ that it was coming and she didn't teleport. Glory Girl and I were right there, and she'd been hit by Animos so she didn't have her shield. The Butcher could have hit us both with her fire—but she didn't. It didn't make sense to me, but... Tattletale thinks she didn't want to hurt Glory Girl, because then she'd lose leverage over Panacea."

"Why would she need leverage?" Piggot was frowning, but not in disbelief—more like a judge, carefully weighing my every word.

I broke eye contact, dropping my head to stare at the floor. "When I was underground... I would have tried to leave a lot sooner if Coil hadn't threatened my father."

My words hung in the air a moment, before Director Piggot leaned back in her chair. "It's certainly possible." Her tone was unmoved. "That only leaves proof. Do you have proof, Miss Hebert?"

I bit my lip. "No," I managed. "It's just... it's the only thing that fits."

"I am sure you believe what you've told me." Piggot regarded me, scowling. "Otherwise, I highly doubt you would have come forward with a story so full of incriminating details."

"Madame Director—" Weld interjected, but stilled when she held up a hand.

"I will be looking into it," she said. "The mere possibility is too much of a risk to ignore. But you yourself have just admitted to flaunting the Wards' tinkertech approval process, meeting with a known villain, and sharing details of a fight that is still _confidential_ with said villain—a _thinker,_ at that."

I forced myself to meet her eyes. "I don't care what you do about that." My tone stayed firm, but even—a small miracle that I appreciated. "You need to know... Tattletale agreed to help us find the Teeth, and one, maybe two of her teammates might be willing to help."

"And _why_ would they do that?" Piggot snapped. "What did you agree to do, exactly?"

"I told Tattletale I'd build her a painkiller," I admitted. "Then she'd pay her teammates to help."

"Are you somehow _unaware_ of the fact that the only limit on many thinker abilities are their migraines?" The Director sneered at me. "Or was this intentional?"

"I'm not a _trump!"_ I shouted, composure forgotten. "Why does everyone think I am? I can't _do_ that, I couldn't do it for Dinah and I _definitely_ won't do it for Tattletale. It'd just fancy aspirin, their powers will still stop working anyway!"

Piggot let out a breath, grimacing. "That's not insignificant," she argued, though this time in a much milder tone. "It will likely allow her to push herself farther than she would have been able to, previously." I gritted my teeth, but didn't reply. The whole conversation was spinning out of control—I hadn't had time to plan it out at all, but this was far off the rails of even my most basic ideas. I'd been planning on asking about not telling Glory Girl until we'd found the Teeth, or sending information to Tattletale, but now I was on the defensive. It seemed extremely unwise to start making demands.

After a moment, Piggot settled back and leveled another glare in my direction. "We _will_ be speaking on this further," she promised. "And you _will_ be disciplined. Considering Tattletale's abilities, Master/Stranger protocols may be warranted. I have half a mind to throw you in a cell right now."

I clenched a fist, eyes flicking to the window as I considered whether or not I'd survive a last-ditch leap to the ground. But the Director wasn't finished.

"That can wait," she decided. "For now, this is a threat we cannot afford to ignore. I will be in touch with New Wave. _You_ will remain here. Without your armor, you would be far more of a hindrance than a help."

"Wait!" I yelped. Cleared my throat. "I mean, I can be back at almost the same strength and durability in a few hours."

Piggot stared at me in obvious disbelief. "How do you plan to do that, exactly?"

"I already have cybernetics in my legs and left arm," I told her, wincing as her jaw clenched. "I can strip down my power armor, and just leave the metal plating. My right arm will be useless, but I'll be able to walk."

"Will you?" Piggot raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I would assume you'd need more than your legs to stay upright."

"Well, yeah. I won't be that fast, but... it won't take long, and then I can test it."

She drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly through her nose. "Tinkers," she said, "are going to drive me to an early retirement. Go."

Hardly believing my luck, I thanked her and scampered out of the room with my tail between my legs. Weld followed, walking slowly with a hand to his head.

"You met Tattletale," he stated, when we were alone. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah."

 _"Why?"_

"I don't know," I admitted. "The first time... I wanted to install the cybernetics in my left arm, and I was frustrated, and she offered to talk to me. I guess I was just curious."

"Curious. _God,_ Taylor, do you even know how dangerous that was?"

"I knew she wasn't going to hurt me."

"How? _How_ could you possibly know that?"

"She offered to help me," I snapped. "Before... before I escaped. When we were fighting the ABB, Sentry and I went out and she talked to me."

"That's just the kind of thing she'd _do,_ to get on your good side," Weld explained patiently. "It's an easy way of—"

"I don't _care!"_ I yelled, shoving him with both hands. He stumbled, mouth gaping open in shock. "I don't _care,_ at least she did _something!_ The Wards just tossed me around, Glory Girl was ready to _kill_ me, and she offered to help! So _yes,_ I trusted her not to ask me to meet her and then kill me for _no reason."_

Weld recoiled as if struck. "Taylor," he said softly. "They didn't _know."_

"And Tattletale did." I looked away, probing the inside of my cheek with my tongue. I'd bitten it, at some point, and I could taste blood.

"That's not fair," Weld murmured.

"I know." I sighed, collapsing against the wall with a hand on my forehead. "I _know._ It's stupid and it doesn't make any sense."

There was a long pause, until Weld slumped next to me. "What do you need, to fix up your armor?" he asked.

"A few hours, maybe," I mused. "Not sure. Either way, it'll probably take Tattletale a while to find the Teeth."

Weld nodded. "Okay. Let's go, then."

I mustered a grateful smile, then followed him absent-mindedly to Armsmaster's old lab. The room was familiar, comforting. I turned to where I'd left my suit of power armor, feeling a twinge of sentimentality as I took in the buffs and scratches that mapped out the most hellish month of my life, and all the weeks since. Then, I started ripping it apart.

The beautiful blue muscles were the first to go, falling away as I scattered them across the table. They were all soldered to a lightweight aluminum skeleton, and I'd need _that_ to be able to hold on the armor. Unless...

I rummaged around in a few boxes, looking for a mesh similar to the one spread across my stomach. Weld shifted uneasily where he stood, probably uncomfortable around all that metal. I mostly ignored him, figuring he'd leave if he really didn't want to be in here.

While I worked, the hours blended together as they always did. I managed to stitch together an incredibly ugly but ultimately functional bodysuit from the mesh, then strip off the armor plating from the exoskeleton and attach it to my new costume.

My goal wasn't anything as sophisticated as power armor, not anymore. I wanted _armor—_ real, honest-to-god, medieval-style steel plate. Except, obviously, made from the same material as the synthetic bones my power could produce. I didn't actually have any of those in my body, yet—that was the kind of thing I _definitely_ wanted to be unconscious for, and I hadn't had the means for that. But they were incredibly sturdy, and soon I had a full-body suit covered in them. It was lighter than I'd anticipated, when I lifted it with my unenhanced arm.

"This should work," I decided, slipping it on over Tattletale's clothes.

Not even a minute later, my phone rang. I picked it up, frowning at the unfamiliar number, and answered.

"I found them," Tattletale said, from the other end of the line. I caught Weld's eye and nodded.

 _Here's hoping this thing works._


	39. Would You Like to Come Over for Dinner?

**Would You Like to Come Over for Dinner?**

* * *

Tattletale led us to a blasted-out strip mall on the outskirts of the boardwalk. Maybe it had been nice, once—now it was a mess of rusted-out cars and bits of trash that had been washed up by Leviathan. It was also, at least from a distance, completely deserted.

From where I stood, it was easy to spot signs of habitation. Hell, I was looking down on the heads of a few of the gang members. It was an odd sense of déjà vu, realizing that not even a full twenty-four hours ago, I'd been doing the exact same thing on top of an abandoned warehouse. The Teeth definitely had a favorite type of hideout.

There was, of course, an important difference. Last time, I'd been peering down in an attempt to identify whether the thugs below were Merchants, ABB, or Empire. And, of course, Kid Win had been there.

Glory Girl had joined us, too. From what I'd heard, that wasn't before a rather vicious argument with her mother, since she had _not_ been supposed to be flying around fighting criminals. Her leg hadn't finished healing, yet. But she'd been adamant about coming with us, and Brandish must have given in if she was here.

The two of them, along with Weld and I, were all crouched on the roof together. Glory Girl had, as the only flier in our group of four, been forced to play shuttle—come to think of it, that might've been how she convinced her mother to let her join the fight. Being able to drop down on them was an important part of keeping them on the back foot, unable to think before they reacted. Our plan more or less hinged on it.

There were other heroes—and Regent—participating in the fight, but none of them were as hard to put down as we were. I'd had just enough time to cannibalize the numbing agent in my old armor, which meant that Glory Girl was actually the most vulnerable of our little quartet—the rest of us were immune to the Butcher's pain attack. That left us with the most dangerous job. We were going to distract the Butcher.

For now, though, we waited. Silent except for our breathing, frozen with bated breath as we watched the room below us. Various gang members wandered in and out, but none of them were wearing the signature armor of the Butcher. Until, finally, she appeared with one of her capes in tow. The only reason I could even tell who he was that I recognized his massive spiked shoulder pads. Animos.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before he left the room, leaving the Butcher alone with two of the regular gang members. They were basically nonentities, considering the firepower and sheer durability we had. Weld nodded—our signal to jump down.

I swung out into empty space without hesitating. It was barely fifteen feet down, and my legs could take the impact easily. As I fell, I realized with a twinge of worry that I was heading straight for the Butcher's head. She looked up at the last second, eyes widening behind her mask. The smug expression she'd worn the last time we'd fought was nowhere to be seen. She disappeared in a burst of flame, and I hit the ground in a roll. It was sloppy, as my right arm was tied to my chest in a makeshift sling and kept getting in the way.

Weld landed next to me with a deafening _clang,_ and barreled toward a pair of double doors leading to the parking lot. I followed hot on his heels, while Glory Girl and Brandish passed right over our heads and dashed outside. The Butcher reappeared just as I emerged from the mall, the explosion of her arrival leaving scorch marks on a nearby streetlight. She was chasing us—perfect.

The four of us sprinted down the road towards her—well, most of us sprinted. Glory Girl was coasting along nearly fifteen feet in the air. The Butcher teleported again, drew her massive bow, and fired. Her arrow impacted harmlessly against the ball of hard light that Brandish had turned into the moment she drew back.

"Animos is tagged!" Clockblocker declared triumphantly through the comms. "I got him just as he was getting outside, he's blocking the door a bit!"

I grinned. That had been the hard part of the strategy the Protectorate and New Wave had drawn up. Animos was too much of a wild card. The rest of the heroes—and Regent—were hitting the Teeth while the brutes led the Butcher away. If we took down enough of her gang, the Butcher would likely be forced to retreat. Even if she didn't, there were PRT agents infiltrating the building while she was distracted to free Panacea.

An arrow slammed into my shoulder, right between two armored plates. It impacted the heavy mesh bodysuit with a low _thump,_ but failed to actually puncture it. I'd added more than one layer, reasoning that speed and mobility were far less important in this particular case than defense. A good move, apparently, even if my back was already tingling from the effort of supporting me.

Then, a terrified shriek rent the air. I flinched, glancing over my shoulder at the mall. It was impossible to tell _who_ had just screamed, the Teeth or the heroes—or Regent—but the Butcher didn't need to. She disappeared in another burst of flame, hopping from building to building towards where the rest of the fight was taking place.

"Butcher incoming," Weld barked.

"Shit," Assault swore. "We haven't managed to tag Spree yet, you need to—" he went silent, then cursed again. My feet were already pounding against the street below me, desperate to carry me back to the thick of the fight. Thirty seconds at most—that was how long we'd managed to distract the Butcher. It hadn't been enough.

Another scuffle sounded over the comms, and Regent started laughing like a hyena. "Necessary communications only," Miss Militia snapped.

By the time the four of us managed to catch up with the Butcher, chaos reigned within the enclosed space of the mall. Spree's clones were crashing against the walls like waves against a beach, held back solely by Laserdream—who kept shooting them in droves, though they were multiplying quite a bit faster than she could put them down—and Miss Militia—who had applied a massive Gatling gun that looked more like a turret than anything else to the problem. Her success was measured in heaps of disintegrating clones.

Vista was, of course, completely unable to use her power with the whole building filled with bodies. She was crouching next to Clockblocker, who in turn had taken shelter next to the hulking form of Animos frozen in the doorway. I'd had to duck under one of his massive forelegs to get inside.

The Butcher was flashing in and out of existence, creating bursts of flame wherever she went. She was targeting those without brute powers, particularly Regent—who yelped and cursed like a sailor into his microphone whenever she blitzed him. He, in turn, took every opportunity to throw off her aim by making her twitch, trip, or drop her arrows.

Even as I charged into the fray, wading through Spree's clones and wincing when one of them bounced a baseball bat over my much abused helmet, I could tell the Butcher was losing patience. She raised her bow, pointing it behind her at Weld. Regent waved at her, sending it careening off to the left, but the effort was far too late—he hadn't made her drop the arrow, and she didn't miss.

Lady Photon had already started throwing up shields, covering herself, her daughter, Flechette, and Regent. I was momentarily thrown by that last choice—until her forcefield stopped the arrow just inches from his face. In retrospect, it was obvious. He was disrupting her aim, and she'd made him a primary target. He didn't look that worried—indeed, he was smirking and waving his hands around like a conductor. The Butcher's foot twisted and lurched. She snarled, and he crumpled to the ground with a sharp scream.

But, the moment the Butcher raised her bow to finish him off, she teleported. I looked around, before realizing that Flechette had pointed her arbalest in her direction. Snarling, the leader of the Teeth burst back into being and fired almost instantly. Lady Photon's shield intercepted the shot, and Flechette leveled the weapon again. And, like clockwork, the Butcher vanished.

 _Her danger sense,_ I realized. Maybe it gave her some sort of threat assessment—different sensations for, say, an Endbringer about to attack her as opposed to an unpowered person. On that scale, I wasn't particularly surprised that Flechette's power was enough to force her to teleport instantaneously. I'd seen it demonstrated before, and it was nothing I wanted to be on the other end of.

It wouldn't be enough, though. I could see that even as I watched. Sooner or later, someone would slip up, or the Butcher would try something different to catch us by surprise.

Apparently, Miss Militia agreed with me. "Get ready to make a retreat," She grunted into the microphone, ducking as one of the Spree clones slashed at her head with what looked like a kitchen knife.

"What?!" Glory Girl snarled. "I'm not leaving without my sister!"

"You won't be," an unfamiliar voice replied over the comms. He was one of the PRT officers stationed outside, to keep out civilians. "She's already been recovered."

"What?" Glory Girl blurted. "How is that possible?" The PRT were supposed to give a progress report the second they reached her, and nothing like that had been forthcoming.

"We'll figure that out later," Weld ordered. "For now, we need to hit the Teeth hard enough that we can get out of here."

Another shot from the Butcher, this one impacting the shield over Lady Photon herself. Then she crumpled, shield dissipating as she hit the ground with a groan.

"Mom!" Laserdream flew forward, throwing up another forcefield over her mother. It was pale, and very fragile-looking by comparison. Though, maybe that was just because I knew it was only a fraction as strong. Lady Photon managed to raise her arm, and conjured up a flickering shell around herself just as an arrow shattered her daughter's fragile defense. It passed through the second shield, too, but had lost so much momentum that it dropped harmlessly to the floor.

Even as the Butcher tried to line up another shot, Regent made her arm twist around itself. Her next arrow dropped to the floor, and then she vanished in a ball of flame. I turned around, desperately searching for something to _do._

My eyes darted over the mass of Spree's clones, but I couldn't see how I'd make much of an impact, there. Miss Militia was already mowing through them at a prodigious rate, and I didn't have a hope of figuring out which was the original. Instead I cast my eyes around the room, searching for—there! I could see Assault, Battery, and Flashbang all facing off against two of the Teeth. Vex and Hemorrhagia, if I remembered correctly. Either way, one of them was coated in blood and the other was spawning a mass of small forcefields that looked for all the world like the paper scraps left over from cutting out a snowflake.

I rushed over to help, though I wasn't sure how much of an impact I'd make. It was easy to plow through the forcefields, mostly because my armor let me bulldoze my way past them without being sliced to ribbons. Vex, who seemed to hear me just a few seconds too late, whirled around. Battery blurred in behind him, socking him in the back of the head as he was distracted, and he crumpled. I blinked, taken aback. The Protectorate hero gave me a nod of thanks, then turned to focus on the other cape.

She was already fighting a losing battle, I realized as I approached. Battery had probably been close to finishing off Vex when I showed up, and Assault and Flashbang had cornered Hemorrhagia with a combination of sudden bursts of light and unpredictable off-the-wall attacks from Assault.

Still, I saw no reason not to speed things up a little. Without much worry about defense—if the Butcher's arrows hadn't hurt me, Hemorrhagia wasn't likely to manage it either—I ran up to her and started swinging one-handed. She blocked me with one forearm, swearing harshly when the blow knocked her off-balance and shattered a bit of blood armor. Then Assault and Battery were flanking her, and the whole thing was over in seconds. Flashbang detonated another ball of light a few feet above her head, making her flinch, and then Assault darted forward and knocked her into me. I grappled with her, taking hold of her shoulder and swinging her toward Battery, who finished the fight by slamming her into the wall, _hard._ She went down, wheezing, and didn't manage to recover before Assault could cuff her hands together.

The Butcher didn't fail to notice. She whirled around and fired directly at Assault, face twisted into a rictus of rage. He was saved at the last instant by Lady Photon, who had recovered enough to start protecting the non-brutes again. Without missing a beat, she flicked her hand out and he fell to his knees, gasping. Battery snarled, taking a step forward. The Butcher raised her bow—and teleported, leaving behind a ball of fire that washed over the Protectorate heroes like a physical blow. I suspected it was probably Flechette forcing her to move again, but was more concerned with the fact that when she appeared again, it was right between the two of them. They each recoiled from the heat, though Battery managed to land a blow on the Butcher's jaw as she materialized.

Her eyes flickered over the assembled heroes, taking in her losses. I turned to follow her gaze, realizing with a shock that Spree's clones had begun to dissipate. My eyes flickered across the crowd, and eventually landed on Miss Militia. She was staring into the midst of them, at a body on the floor that was _not_ disintegrating. Her face was set into a grimace.

Animos was still frozen, and there were a few capes from the Teeth left in fighting shape, but most of their regular gang members had already been knocked out, frozen, or fled. The Butcher watched warily as the heroes—and Regent—began retreating towards another set of double doors near the back of the mall. Her eyes narrowed, but she made no move to follow. Instead she stood over Vex and Hemorrhagia, making clear that we would _not_ be arresting them.

My whole body still a mass of tension, I went along with the rest of the Protectorate and New Wave—and Regent—as we left the fight. The Butcher had fought us to a draw—but that had been the idea all along. I wasn't sure _how,_ but the PRT had said that Panacea had been recovered. There was something nagging at me, too, like I should know what had happened.

We all left, doing our best impression of fleeing with our tails between our legs. It wasn't that difficult of an act, considering how wrong the whole plan had gone almost from the start. I grimaced. We'd managed our primary objective, somehow, but it had been far too close. If Miss Militia hadn't found Spree's original body... it would've turned into a fighting retreat and there was a good chance someone could have died.

Regent, who seemed entirely blasé about the fact that he'd almost been shot not even ten minutes ago, stopped about a block away from the mall and cracked up laughing. I frowned at him a moment, confused, until I followed his gaze to where a squadron of PRT officers were hovering around Panacea. The healer was out of costume, shabbily dressed and with a blanket thrown over her shoulders. Beside her was a girl dressed in a devil mask, bowing theatrically.

 _Imp,_ I remembered. Suddenly, the other half of the plan came rushing back to me—Imp had gone in two hours earlier, to locate Panacea and report her location back to Tattletale, who had then passed the information on to the PRT. The whole point of the exercise had been to conceal her existence from the Protectorate, something Tattletale had insisted on. She was _not_ supposed to be standing around after the fact, laughing at the heroes while Miss Militia pointed a gun at her.

"What the hell?" Regent asked, sounding more amused than upset. "I thought you were supposed to be sneaky."

Imp folded her arms, exuding smugness in a way I suspected she might've learned form Tattletale. "Not much point when Panacea already saw me," she shrugged. She turned to poke out her tongue at the PRT agents. "The Storm Troopers got lost, so I had to get her out myself." One of them, possibly the same one that had ordered our retreat, twitched where he stood.

"We most certainly did not," he said indignantly.

"Don't let her bait you, Saunders," Miss Militia sighed. "I assume you're a member of the Undersiders?"

"Yep," Regent answered. "This is Imp."

"Maybe I exaggerated a _little,"_ Imp admitted, "But they were taking forever."

"We didn't want to raise the alarm, Ma'am," the agent—Saunders, I supposed—replied. "The Teeth had stationed guards throughout the premises, and even ordinary gang members are difficult to incapacitate silently."

"Are they?" Imp asked innocently. "Didn't seem that hard to me."

Glory Girl, who had been hovering uncertainly a few feet to Miss Militia's left, finally lost patience. "You're done here, right?" she snapped, and shoved her way past Imp toward her sister.

I shifted uncomfortably, moving aside to let the rest of New Wave through. They all ended up in an uneasy half-circle around Panacea, who looked to be only seconds away from turning tail and fleeing.

Brandish took in a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but was suddenly interrupted when Glory Girl blurted, "I missed you." She floated forward, as though about to go for a hug, then stopped. Panacea shifted from foot to foot. Laserdream coughed. Thinking back to my own reunion with my dad, I couldn't help but wince in sudden, horrified empathy for Miss Militia, who had been caught in the middle.

"I'm sorry," Panacea eventually mumbled. "About the Butcher."

"On the contrary," Miss Militia replied, stepping forward. "Thank you. You saved my life." Panacea blinked, startled, then her eyes widened in understanding and she nodded.

"And ours," Regent added. "Can you imagine how much it would've sucked to fight the Butcher if she could've started pulling rocket launchers out of her ass?"

As if realizing he was there for the first time, Panacea turned to stare at him in open astonishment. "You... what are you _doing_ here?"

He shrugged. "My teammate bribed me."

"What?!"

Glory Girl glared suspiciously in his general direction. "It's a long story that I don't really trust. I can tell you later." She paused. "Unless... um..."

Panacea lowered her head. "I think... I think it would be better if I stayed at the PRT building." Then she mumbled, "If they'll even let me."

"Of course," Miss Militia answered immediately. "Our door is always open for you." She paused, looking more uncomfortable in that moment than I'd ever seen her before. "Well, not that—I _do_ hope you can patch things up with your family."

"I want to." Panacea glanced timidly over at the rest of the New Wave heroes, who were still standing a step or two behind Glory Girl. Then she realized that her sister was, in fact, floating a few inches off the ground. Her hand shot up to her mouth, and she seemed to lose all power of speech.

"It's looks worse than it is," Glory Girl insisted, obviously having noticed the look. Her leg was bandaged up, and this time she'd stayed well away from Animos, so she hopefully hadn't aggravated the injury again.

With a chilly expression, Brandish stepped forward. Her arms were folded sternly. _"That_ is a blatant lie, Victoria."

Panacea tightened her hold on the blanket the PRT had given her, suddenly unable to meet anyone's eyes. "I want to help," she mumbled. "I just can't."

Laserdream sighed explosively, making me jump at the sudden noise. "Look," she said flatly, stepping between Brandish, whose face had already started to redden with anger, and Panacea, who looked increasingly like she wanted to disappear from where she stood. "I don't know what the hell is going on with you."

Glory Girl turned and glared at her, but her cousin just held up a hand. "You won't talk about it, so I don't know how I could. But I _do_ know that you love Vicky, and you wouldn't do something like this if it wasn't something major." Panacea's snapped her head up again, looking almost alarmed.

"I—" she blurted, then stopped. Took a breath. "I can't tell you."

Lady Photon approached, laying her hands gently on her niece's shoulders. "Stay with the Wards if you don't want to be at home, okay? We were worried about you." Then she stepped back until she was shoulder to shoulder with her daughter. Flashbang said nothing, but he smiled warmly and almost reminded me of dad, for a moment.

Panacea stared at them, looking dumbstruck. It was probably the exact same look I'd given my dad, when he'd told me he'd talk to the PRT about my cybernetics. Slowly, as though she were having trouble believing what she was looking at, she stepped forward and gingerly hugged Glory Girl. I couldn't help but notice that she was very careful not to touch bare skin. _It's something with her powers,_ I realized, though I still had no idea what.

After a moment, she let go and wrapped her arms around her own waist, fingers drumming nervously against the blanket still draped over her shoulders. Then she turned toward Brandish, the only one who hadn't yet spoken. There were angry lines around her eyebrows and mouth, where her muscles were tensed and ready to scowl. Then, she sighed. "Would you like to come over for dinner?" she asked, tone carefully neutral. Panacea's eyes went wide, but she managed a jerky nod.

"Aw," Regent cooed, from somewhere to my right. I reached out and punched him hard in the shoulder to shut him up. He launched into a coughing fit, which I ignored. I hadn't used my augmented arm, so he was probably faking.

New Wave parted ways with the rest of us after that, though Brandish lagged behind them to give a statement to the PRT and handle the debriefing. I was detained for a few minutes while I described my own minimal contributions to the fight, and then set loose.

Regent, surprisingly enough, hadn't run off yet. I found him skulking behind one of the buildings as I waited for Miss Militia and the rest of the Protectorate to finish, and he beckoned me over with a uniquely disturbing grin on his face. I approached, only because my power pretty much countered his and I didn't think he could hurt me if he tried. He was the only Undersider here, and the rest of the Wards were just a few dozen feet away.

When I finally walked up to him, he put a hand up to his mouth and coughed self-importantly. I raised an eyebrow, though the expression was lost behind my visor.

"Two thinkers and a tinker walk into a bar—" he began. I snarled at him and turned to walk away. As I stalked off, it sounded strangely like there were _two_ sets of laughter coming from behind me.

* * *

 **Okay... I gotta get this out: Fuck this chapter so,** ** _so_** **very much. I literally started doing** ** _push-ups_** **at one point just to procrastinate finishing it, that's how much it kicked my ass. If I hadn't already eaten up my buffer, there was no way in** ** _hell_** **I would've forced myself to write this in a weekend. But, at least it's done now.**


	40. No Need to Be a Stranger

**No Need to Be a Stranger**

* * *

 **Well, this is it. The last chapter. Hope you enjoyed, it's been like two years now (and holy _crap,_ when did that happen?!), and I am feeling kind of drained so... here it is!**

 **Oh, wait, one more thing: Apparently something weird happened with FFN's email notifications, so you may or may not have missed a chapter. It'd probably be a good idea to go back one (or possibly even two, I'm not entirely sure how long this has been going on) to make sure you don't get spoiled.**

* * *

I'd been wrong, before. Walking to Piggot's office the first time hadn't been like being marched to the gallows—and I knew that because _today_ it most certainly did. Weld was walking on my left side, but it was hard to be comforted by the familiar face when he looked almost as nervous as I did.

The door shut behind me with a very final-sounding click, with Weld still waiting outside. My right arm was shaking a bit—it finally had the freedom to move, now that I'd taken off the armor, but I was fervently wishing that I hadn't. Director Piggot was waiting behind her desk, her hands folded and her eyes glittering.

"Hello, Director," I managed. Then I closed my mouth and flushed, because that had sounded _way_ too informal, and was it too late to ask for a few dozen thugs to fight instead?

"Aurora." Her tone was sharp and crisp, and I got the distinct impression that if Leviathan himself were to burst into her office, she'd give him that same stern glare. "You were right, I see."

Her words were encouraging. The way she said them was not. "Yes, ma'am," I replied meekly.

"I suppose that saves me the trouble of having to discipline you for wasting our time and resources, then." I waited with bated breath for the final shoe to drop. Piggot didn't make me wait long—or, depending on your point of view, she didn't _let_ me wait long. "That just leaves your flagrant disregard for our tinkertech review system, your association with known villains, and the fact that you gave a criminal thinker information about a fight that was, and will remain, _confidential."_

I shifted uncomfortably, and nodded. It wasn't like there was any point denying it—that ship had sailed a _long_ time ago.

"It was tempting to simply withdraw your funding, remove you from Armsmaster's lab, and put you on the console until you turned eighteen. In fact, the _only_ reason I haven't already done that is the fact that you _did,_ regardless of your questionable judgment, allow us to free Panacea from the Teeth. We could not have done that without Tattletale's help." Her lips pursed, as though she'd just bit down on a lemon.

"Now. What _exactly_ was going through your head when you decided to make such a reckless gamble with Protectorate secrets?"

My right hand twitched. "I didn't—" I started, then cut myself off. My palms were sweating, and I had to wipe them off on my jeans. "I never said anything I thought might give Tattletale any insight into the Protectorate."

"Really?" Piggot raised a single eyebrow. "Are you a thinker, Miss Herbert?"

"Hebert," I corrected.

"Answer the question."

"No, ma'am."

"Exactly. Whether or not _you_ were aware of some means by which she might have manipulated the knowledge is irrelevant. With her powers, _any_ insight, no matter how small, can easily lead her to _classified information."_

"I had to!" I protested. "And I only ever told her what the Butcher did!"

"And she made _no_ connections involving the Protectorate or our movements?" Piggot asked dryly. I flushed and looked at the floor. She'd figured out that Miss Militia had nearly become the Butcher, though I had no idea what she'd possibly be able to do with that information. I wasn't going to defend myself that way, though. Not when I'd just proved the point Piggot was trying to make.

"I apologize," I said stiffly. "It won't happen again."

Piggot sighed explosively. "And I'm sure it will, if your sense of justice is threatened. I'm well aware of how heroes like you behave, Aurora. You never seem to understand that the red tape is here for a _purpose,_ and for some reason always end up under the impression that the rules don't apply to _you."_

 _They don't apply to the Teeth, either,_ I thought but did not say aloud. There was no point baiting her.

Finally, the Director leaned back and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well. For this _monumental_ breach of protocol and basic common sense, I'll be putting you on the console for the next two weeks. You'll be on probation until I say otherwise—no patrolling alone, not that you'd been here long enough _anyway,_ no using the lab without supervision, and _no_ clandestine rendezvous with enemy capes. Is that understood?"

"Yes." I wasn't _happy,_ and part of me was already trying to think of ways to get around that second rule, but I did know what the words meant.

"I highly doubt that." I gritted my teeth—the sarcasm was getting a bit old. "And now, we've arrived at the problem of your tinkertech."

I tried very hard not to shrink away from her, but didn't quite manage it. My cybernetics seemed to tingle from where they nestled under my skin, as though Piggot could examine them as she sat behind her desk.

"I can't take it out," I said quickly. "I wouldn't even know how." That was a bit of a lie—I _could,_ just not without a healer and a lot of surgery, and Panacea wasn't interested.

"Why on _earth_ would I want you to do that?" Piggot steepled her fingers, and the gesture was so stereotypically villainous that I couldn't help but imagine Coil doing the same thing. _Probably in front of a mirror every morning, to practice._

"What _do_ you want me to do, then?" I asked, fingers drumming against my hip.

"I will, reluctantly, allow you some leeway with your cybernetics." Piggot scowled. "If nothing else, you've proved that they work. You will _not_ be installing them in filthy alleyways and inevitably contracting some sort of disease that will then manifest itself as an avalanche of paperwork that _I_ have to deal with. In point of fact, I'm quite tempted to put the matter off until Panacea is willing to supervise you. If that takes too long, I will find another healer that can."

Grimacing, I bit my lip to keep myself from protesting. I was fairly sure it would do more harm than good, and it was, at least, more than they'd been willing to give me from the beginning.

How much was _some_ leeway, though? I'd been trying to think of ways to try using the synthetic bone my power let me make, but had never really been able to come up with anything reasonably safe. With a healer standing by, I could use my tech in ways I'd never manage in an alleyway.

Piggot soon answered the question I hadn't asked. "You _will_ go through the proper channels from now on, do you understand?" I nodded. "That means _nothing_ gets built without permission, and if the PRT tells you no, you will listen." My head kept bobbing up and down.

"Don't _nod_ at me," she snapped. I stopped, staring. "I know full well you'll do anything and everything within your power to circumvent or outright ignore every regulation I try to throw at you. Kid Win has done exactly the same thing, and he is rather a lot _better_ at it." I winced. Maybe I should have denied it, but that would have been a fairly blatant and obvious lie.

"So. I will be assigning someone to your lab, to supervise while you work. Whenever you work. _They_ will be given a keycard, and will let you in."

My jaw dropped. "You can't do that!" I started to protest, but Piggot was unmoved.

"I can, and I will. You're a danger to yourself."

"That's _bullshit!"_ I froze, chest heaving, as I mentally rewound what I'd just said. Then I clapped a hand over my own mouth—far too late.

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "You yourself told us something went wrong while you were installing the cybernetics in your legs. You tell me—what would have happened if you hadn't been able to contact Tattletale?"

"Well, maybe if I hadn't had to hide it, I wouldn't have been installing them in an alleyway!" I half-shouted. "I'm not going to ignore my power, and it's not exactly regulation friendly!"

At that, Piggot actually laughed. "No," she said, voice heavily laced with irony. "It isn't. In fact, I believe I had to spend nearly an hour of my valuable time, which has become increasingly scarce lately, trying to explain to my superiors why one of my Wards seems dead-set on _maiming_ herself. God only knows what our PR department is going to have to do to make you even remotely palatable to the public."

My eye twitched. "I don't _care_ if it's not media-friendly. It's _mine,_ and I'm going to use it."

"Miss Hebert." Piggot was _livid_ now, I could see a vein standing out against her forehead. "You have flaunted our rules _repeatedly,_ and if you are only going to continue to do so, I see no reason why I shouldn't confine you to the console indefinitely."

I took a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut. "I think I do," I replied, still not looking at her.

"Really?" The question was sardonic, and deeply patronizing. I gritted my teeth and raised my head defiantly. _I am_ done _with people talking to me like that._

"Yeah. I don't _need_ to be here." Piggot folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I believe I saw a form involving your tinker budget for this month. You used, what, ninety percent of it? You need funding."

"Yeah, I do," I admitted. "But I don't need it from you. I'm here because I _like_ the Wards, but I'm not doing this again." My mind flashed back to my notebook, probably still buried underground, if it hadn't been destroyed when Leviathan came. It had been bursting with ideas, borne from the constant boredom of lounging around in my room. My cell. And I'd never worked on any of them.

Piggot was sitting up straighter. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. Now, she was taking me seriously. "And where, exactly, would you be getting the money for your work?" Her mouth tightened. "Would you join the Undersiders, perhaps?"

"No!" I snarled. "I don't need to be a criminal to support myself. I can make super powered painkillers, there are plenty of thinkers who'd pay me for it."

At that, there was another shift in her demeanor. Her mouth thinned as she pressed her lips together, and I got the distinct impression that I was being scanned, evaluated. "I see," she said finally. "And when one of these thinkers doesn't want to pay? When a gang comes knocking on your door? What will you do then?"

My fingernails bit into my palm, and I felt a sudden stinging in my left hand and had to stifle the urge to curse. Of _course_ they'd broken skin, I was strong on that side but no tougher. The memory was still as sharp as ever—a van, idling in the street, mercenaries jumping out of it and pointing guns at me.

 _Fuck that,_ I thought. _And fuck her._

"I quit," I decided.

"What?" her eyes went wide, obviously surprised. She'd really expected that to work.

"Coil's dead," I snapped. "I'm not going to hide from him. And _fuck you,_ for using that to scare me. I'm done."

And with that, I stormed out of her office. Her door might have been locked—it was hard to tell, since I'd yanked it open as hard as I could with my left hand and I didn't think your average lock would stand up to that kind of abuse.

Weld was waiting for me outside. I stopped, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness as I realized that I'd actually _said_ all of that out loud, to the Director.

"Taylor," he called out, obviously anxious. He must have heard some of it, though I had no idea how much. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I managed. At least, I would be. My fingers drummed against my thigh as I thought. _Whatever I said in there, this will make my life harder._ I'd have to stop tinkering until I could get a hold of some money to start with, since I'd given all of Tattletale's initial donation to Regent. And I owed her one of the painkillers, so I couldn't even start selling them right away. _I might have to borrow money from a criminal._

"Yeah, I think I'm okay." Maybe Coil had some kind of bounty on him that I could collect, or... well, I might actually be able to raid his old base for tech. The PRT had _probably_ already gone down there to make sure there weren't any other city-breaking monsters locked up, but there was always the chance they'd left something of value.

"What happened?" Weld was still peering at my face, as though he could read my mind if he just focused hard enough.

"I quit," I replied. A weak smile was all I could really manage, since at least half of my mind was still puzzling over the problem of funding. And it _would_ be a problem, at least until I got to the point where I could start selling. It was something I could solve, though, in whatever way I pleased. Sure, some things were illegal and I didn't want to do them for obvious moral reasons, but that was my choice. _Mine._

Weld, who obviously couldn't tell what I was thinking, was gaping like a goldfish. "What? Why?" he managed. "I thought you liked it here."

"I do!" I said quickly, wincing at the hurt in his voice. "I'm not going to stop being a hero or anything. I just can't really deal with the constraints they put on tinkers, here."

He frowned. "Look, Taylor, I get it, I really do..." I sort of doubted that, since he was pretty much as far from being a tinker as possible, considering the wires would stick to him if he ever tried to build something.

"But?"

"But, where are you going to get funding?"

"I'll sell my tech." I grinned, realizing suddenly that I _did_ have one of the painkillers—granted, it was the one _I'd_ been using, but I could probably manage without it for a couple of weeks. Then there were all the components in both suits of armor, just _begging_ to be cannibalized.

"It's dangerous, Taylor!" Weld groaned. "I know you can be sort of impulsive sometimes, but you really need to think before you do something like this."

"I know it's dangerous." I scowled at him, putting my hands on my hips. "Trust me, I am _more_ than aware of the risks of being an unaffiliated tinker." He flinched back, as if I'd slapped him. Though, without the painkiller that would definitely hurt me more than him.

"So why are you doing it?" he asked softly.

"Agency." I looked up at him and mustered a grin. "I need to be able to make my own choices. The PRT keeps drowning me in regulations, and I _know_ they're meant to keep me safe, but right now I can't deal with being constrained like that."

Weld stayed silent for a moment, apparently absorbing what I'd just said. Finally, he tuned to the wall and let his head rest against it with a _clang._

"Are you okay?" I frowned, wondering whether _'Are you angry?'_ would have been a better question. Then, he groaned.

"I'm fine. It's just... you can be incredibly frustrating, sometimes."

I drew myself up, indignant. "Hey! It's not my problem if you won't want me to—"

"That's not what I meant, Taylor." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, before lifting his head to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry. I want to help you, I want to keep you safe, and it drives me insane when those two goals keep contradicting one another."

I blinked. "You... what?"

He held out a hand. "Promise you'll keep in touch, okay? No jumping into impossible situations without _some_ backup? There's precedent for unaffiliated tinkers, or any parahuman really, running joint patrols and fighting with the Protectorate. We wouldn't be around all the time, but if you got in over your head, we could help."

Slowly, I reached out and shook the offered arm. A smile spread across my face as I nodded.

"Good." Then, his eyes took on a slightly more mischievous glint, and he ruffled my hair. I yelped, slapping at his hand and bursting out laughing.

"Hey!" I tried to glare at him, but the corners of my mouth kept twitching upward.

Weld, still smirking, stepped back and nodded to me. It wasn't a goodbye, and I had the feeling he wouldn't give me one even if I asked. The point was clear— _I_ will _see you later._

"Thanks," I told him, and headed for the stairs. I wasn't really sure where I was going, but I figured I'd walk around outside for a while, then head back home. That plan didn't last long. In fact, I could practically hear it dying an ignoble death the minute I stepped out onto the ground floor landing.

There, standing together not far from the main entrance, were Glory Girl and Panacea. They were standing a good three feet apart, but seemed to be in a much better mood than the last time I'd seen either of them. Well, that was what I'd _thought—_ until both of them turned toward me, and I found myself feeling unaccountably nervous.

Glancing around as if to check if there was someone behind me for them to be staring at—no such luck—I swallowed and walked over. Glory Girl was still hovering to keep her weight off her bad leg, but I didn't have the armored bodysuit with me, yet. I'd been about to head to the basement to pick it up, but the odds of getting there before she caught up to me were pretty much nil.

"Hello?" I asked instead, desperately wracking my brain for anything I might have done to upset them. I couldn't think of anything... in point of fact I'd done the exact _opposite._

"Co—uh, Aurora," Glory Girl greeted me. I was moderately sure she'd been trying to be intimidating, but the mid-sentence slip had more or less ruined the effect. Her aura, on the other hand, was doing its best to make up for it. I grimaced, fists clenching as I studiously ignored the prickle of fear that was not my own.

"Yes?" I prompted. My spine had gone rigid, but I did my best not to let my body shake.

Glory Girl narrowed her eyes and folded her hands over her chest. She looked strangely nervous, and it occurred to me that she might not be using her aura on purpose at all. "We want to talk to you," she declared. I shrugged, doing my level best to hide the way my knees had nearly given out the second the words had left her mouth. I _hated_ her powers.

"How did you know where Amy was?" I frowned, raising an eyebrow at the look on her face.

"The PRT didn't tell you?"

"They did." Glory Girl's eyes narrowed. "I want to hear it from you."

"I noticed something was off while we were fighting the Butcher," I explained, surreptitiously wiping the sweat from my palms on my jeans. "Then... I asked Tattletale about it. She figured it out."

A muscle jumped in Glory Girl's jaw as she nodded. "Yeah, they told us that. They _didn't_ explain why you were talking to her in the first place."

 _Oh._ I winced, realizing that this wasn't about the incident with the Butcher at all—it was about Tattletale. "She offered to let me use her apartment to install my tech," I explained. "Then, something went wrong when I was installing it and I didn't know where else to go... so I went there."

"But _why?"_ Panacea demanded, speaking for the first time. "Why did she give you that address?"

"I can't talk about that." Technically Tattletale had never told me not to, but... well, _I_ considered it personal information, and it was a long story I didn't particularly want to get into. I _definitely_ didn't want to talk about why she had been so grateful.

That obviously wasn't what they'd wanted to hear, though. Glory Girl drew herself up, literally rising almost a foot into the air until she was glowering down at me. "You know who she is, right? She's a villain." I nodded wordlessly.

After a moment—one of the most deeply uncomfortable moments of my life—Panacea sighed and held out a hand. I shook it, noticing as I did so that she was wearing a pair of gloves. "I'm sorry about the interrogation."

I shrugged. "I mean, I'd like to know _why,_ but it's fine."

"We weren't sure if... well, if Tattletale had something to do with how they found me."

"Why would she do that?" I asked, incredulous. I could still remember the look on Tattletale's face when she'd realized what it could mean if Noelle duplicated Panacea's powers—the idea of handing her over to another parahuman that might misuse them would be incomprehensibly stupid.

"I don't know," Panacea sighed. "I just... I don't trust her. At all. Not after what she did."

I frowned, opened my mouth to ask, but Glory Girl shook her head over her sister's shoulder. Instead I shrugged. "I don't know what she did, but I doubt she'd want to help the Teeth. She has no reason to make a rival gang stronger."

Panacea nodded. "Right." She swallowed, then glanced over my shoulder. I tried to follow her gaze, before realizing there was nothing behind me and her eyes had just been wandering.

"So... is that why you're here?" I asked, eager to get back to the lab where things made sense.

"No." She took a deep breath, and managed to make brief eye contact. Then her gaze flicked off to the side. "I'm sorry about... I just had to be sure all this wasn't kind of... I don't even know. I was worried, when I heard about Tattletale, that you might've had ulterior motives."

"Maybe I did." Panacea looked up, alarm showing in her face. "I guess... being able to help felt a bit like closure." My mind wandered even as I spoke, flashing back to the moment Coil had collapsed bonelessly to the ground. That should have felt like the end of it, but it really hadn't.

"Oh." There was guilt written all over the healer's face. Part of me wanted to tell her it was fine, that I didn't mind, but I didn't. Instead I waited for her to speak, still twitching slightly under the effects of her sister's aura.

"I'm sorry," she said eventually. "And... thank you for everything."

 _No need to thank me, ma'am, virtue is it's own reward!_ I grimaced, very carefully did _not_ say that, and resolved to whack Dennis upside the head the next time I saw him, for being a terrible influence. I resolved never to leave him alone with Regent, coughed awkwardly, and shrugged.

"It helped me, too. So... it's fine."

Panacea apologized again, and then she and her sister left. I stayed standing in the lobby for a while, deep in thought. Then, finally, I shook myself out of my stupor and started down to the basement. I had gear to collect, after all.

Collecting my worldly possessions didn't take long. At least, the ones I was comfortable bringing. I left most of the components and materials I hadn't used. Even if I'd technically bought them with my tinker budget and they were, as far as I knew, _mine,_ it felt oddly like stealing. I _did_ pack up my tools, as well as a few more esoteric things that I'd need for the painkiller and wouldn't be able to get my hands on otherwise. And, as a strange sort of penance, I left my old armor. Maybe they'd have a use for it, and maybe not. In any case, between it and the new armor that had been stripped down to the bone and turned into a body suit, there'd be way too much to carry around. I wanted to keep my newer gear, so it would have to go.

That done, I emerged back into the Wards common room. I didn't _have_ to, technically, but I wanted to talk to them before I left. There was a world of difference between _wanting to_ and actually _doing it,_ though, so when I actually got there I ended up standing awkwardly in the doorway, feeling lost.

Chris, the only one actually inside at the moment—or, at least, the only one out in the open room, and not in his cubicle—waved me over. After a moment's hesitation, I walked up to him and set my bag of tech on the floor. There was a moment of heavy silence while the pair of us fidgeted.

"Weld told us what happened," he said finally. I nodded, fingers drumming against my hip.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

Chris smiled shyly. "Don't be. I mean, I've definitely been tempted to do the same thing, I just don't think I'd be able to sell my tech as well as you can."

"Don't sell yourself short." He frowned, cocking his head to the side.

"Was that a pun?"

I cracked up. "No," I managed, "But I guess that kills any chance I had of a serious goodbye."

"Good." Chris gestured vaguely at the Wards common room, with its welcoming half-circle of couches and the massive television we'd all played video games on. "How about you stay for a bit? I think Missy and Dennis are around, though Lily's on patrol. She'll be back in about an hour."

I hesitated. "I should probably go."

A rare smirk appeared on his face. "Nah, the worst they can do is kick you out. And anyway, I think you could probably hang around here even if you aren't part of the Wards. Victoria does. Well, did." There was a flash of sadness in his eyes, but it was replaced by an earnest smile a moment later. "No need to be a stranger."

I gaped at him a moment, touched. Then I grinned. "What do you want to do, then?"

In the end, we dragged Dennis out of a nap—grumbling and complaining the whole way, even though he adamantly refused to go back to sleep—and were joined by Missy halfway through the twelfth level of his game. I wasn't great at it—I'd never played much when I was younger, and obviously hadn't touched a video game outside of the Wards since Coil. But it was... nice.

During a lull when Dennis went off to hunt for snacks, I found myself brushing my hand against the ends of my hair. It had grown out a lot since Leviathan, and was starting to tumble down past my shoulders. Almost like things were going back to normal.

I frowned, running my fingers through it. It wasn't back to normal, though, and it probably never would be. Maybe I should get it cut—not like it had been underground, and not like I'd worn it what felt like centuries ago, at Winslow. Neither were attached to particularly good memories.

 _There's some irony in here somewhere,_ I mused. I'd been kidnapped and extorted, chased by a rampaging Lung, half-drowned by Leviathan and nearly eaten by Noelle. I'd been burned, battered, and beaten to a pulp, slapped out of the air and trapped several stories underground. And, after all that, I was actually better of than I had been in high school.

That was the whole problem, I supposed. Normal had sucked for so long I'd actually forgotten what it was like to look forward to the next day. But... I could be excited about this, about figuring out how to manage on my own and still keeping up the friendships I'd made in the Wards. I'd never go back to how I was—but I would keep moving forward, and that was enough.

* * *

 **So... yeah. Things aren't quite as tied-up as I'd like—the Butcher's still around, for one thing—and I could probably get another arc out of this story. In point of fact, I could probably keep writing it _forever,_ since I went in with zero plan and only a vague idea of the timeline. The problem is that I... really don't want to. I have other ideas I want to work on, and this one has overstayed its welcome by at least an arc or so while I was trying (and sort of failing) to wrap it up nicely.**

 **I like to think I learned a lot about writing from this (in two years, I seriously _better have)._ But the number one thing is definitely that I am _never, ever,_ EVER going to write anything ever again that's longer than a single chapter without planning it out first. Ever. Because if I _had_ made a proper outline for this, from the beginning, it would probably only be about half as long as it is, and with a much tidier end. I see this a lot, actually, stories like this one that seem to have started as concepts that don't _have_ a predetermined endpoint. They tend to go along for a while, being either atrocious or awesome depending on the story, until eventually they slow down and die. That is most definitely exactly what would happen to this if I kept going, so... it's ending. I'm definitely going to keep writing, though I may not be back with Worm anytime soon (or ever, who knows).**

 **Whelp, I'm honestly pretty exhausted at this point because I got home literally like forty-five minutes ago and would very much like to curl up in a ball under the covers. Here's hoping but not particularly expecting that this ending felt like a gentle trundling deceleration, rather than someone slamming on the brakes in the middle of the highway because a goddamn deer forgot about the whole life preservation instinct thing.**


End file.
